


Lost In The Sea

by Fandomtrashed13



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), Legend of the Three Caballeros (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, M/M, Multi, This is the Lost Twin Au, What the fuck Tumblr, god fFUCKING DAMMT, maaaaaaaaaannnnnnn family dramaaaaaaaaa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandomtrashed13/pseuds/Fandomtrashed13
Summary: Donald had gone up with her to stop her, to keep her safe.He hadn't come back down.For years.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been late at night when Della discovered the rocket.

She had wanted a glass of water and even though the bed was warm, the promise of cool water made her get up and try to navigate through the semi-dark halls of the mansion. Della had passed Uncle Scrooge's office, finding it odd that the lights were still on. ' _I'll just turn them off for him,'_ she had thought.

She was about to turn off the lamp on his desk when she noticed the letters on the desk. Della had picked them up and read them, feeling excitement kindle in her.

Scrooge had been writing to a group of scientists, explaining that they needed to check in with the rocket. _The_ _Spear of Selene_. It was for his niece Della, Scrooge had wrote, as a gift, a surprise, for the hatching of her new sons. Della vaguely remembered mentioning it casually at dinner one night, three weeks after laying the eggs. That had been the start of the on-going arguments between her and Donald. It contained sharp words and raw throats, tension filling the space between them. But, Della didn't spare a thought about that that night. She had found a chance to give her babies the stars and she was going to take it.

That's how she found herself standing at the base of the rocket, staring up at it with a helmet tucked under her arm. 

Della had lied to Donald, saying that she was tired, that she needed to take a nap. Asked if he could watch the eggs for her. Her brother had agreed and after making sure he was in another room, Della had snuck out the window dressed in the spacesuit she had managed to get. Throughout the trip, she was running because she was going to give her babies the stars and because adrenaline had replaced her blood in her veins. A duffel bag was slung over her shoulder, containing the high depth camera and her trusty notebook that contained all of the notes she had taken on her adventures. Some of the pages were still blank, waiting for a pen to fill them with details about galaxies or the birth of a star. They might even become the bedtime stories for one of her chidren. The pictures might become familar to them, making their way into the family album.

That person in the distance? Scrooge, dressed in a spacesuit, smiling at a camera. The Spear of Selen was unguarded and it was easy, all to easy to place the helmet on her and climb the ladder.

She was mid-way up when she heard shouting. A familiar, garbeled shouting.

"DELLA!" Donald shouted, staring up at her from the bottom of the ladder. He looked like a toy from this angle. Della froze, wondering how he knew what her plan was. "DELLA, COME DOWN!"

' _I'm so close, Don. So, so, close. It'll be worth it. I swear it'll be worth it.'_ She began to climb faster, hands grasping the bars tightly as to not slip and fall. The adrenaline was still there, coursing through her, pushing her.

Donald was still screaming at her and why weren't there anyone watching? Surely someone could hear her brother's screaming. It was loud enough to be heard all across the world. A quick glance around showed that there was no one there; Srooge had gone inside. A quick glance downward and Della gave a start; Donald was almost close enough to grab her foot.

"Go back down, Donald!" she called, pausing slightly to catch her breath. Glass fogged up because of this actin. "Go back down! I've got this!"

"GOT THIS?!" Donald did not just shout these words, he screamed it. His trademark blue sailors hat had fallen off, blown by the wind. The look he game her was a combination of disbelief and anger. Della didn't know how she felt about that look. "GOT THIS?! Della, you're insane! You don't even know if this is safe!"

"You always say that!" Della called as she began to climb again. "You always worry!"

"Because this isn't a desert or a forest or some village or a temple-this is space! It's too dangerous and risky and you're being stupid! What if this thing breaks down?! Then, what Della?!"

"That won't happen!"

"YES, IT WILL!"

"GOD, JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE!"

"NO! I WON'T BECAUSE YOU HAVE KIDS ON THE WAY! WHAT IF YOU DIE, DELLA?! HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO EXPLAIN THAT?! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS?!"

Gloved fingers finally reached the top of the ladder. Della fumbled with the door and when it opened, she leaped inside, slamming it shut behind her. Something pounded on the door and Donald was screaming at her to let him in.

Ignoring the yelling, Della turned torwards the seat. She had pictured herself calmly walking to the pilot's seat, but found herself shaking in-what? Excitement? Anticipation? She didn't know. Buckling herself in, she let her fingers push this, flick that, to start the rocket. She had asked Quackfaster for every book about rocket ships and space. She had read and read and studied and studied until her fingers knew where to go by memory. The books were read when she was certain that sleep had carried everybody in the household, leaving her with a flashlight and a brain eager to soak up knowledge.

The rocket began to shake and Della could not keep the grin from her face. ' _This was happening, this was happening, this was happening!'_

But, at the same time a loud sound resounded from the door. Shrieking, Della twisted around to see a white fist had punctured through the steel door. The knuckles of it were beginning to turn red already. The hand flapped around before finding the handle of the door and wrenched it open. Donald leaped into the room and slammed the door behind him.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" It was Della's turn to scream over the loud roar of the engines, alternating from staring at Donald and checking the vitals.

"STOPPING YOU FROM DOING THIS!" With great difficulty, Donald began to make his way to to his sister, arms outstretched infront of him. The rocket had began to take off. "WHY CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!"

Della opened her mouth to speak, but her brother's hands grabbing at the straps of her seatbelt stopped her. With quick fingers that have plucked precious stones from their cursed holdings and have untied complicated knots over the years, Donald unbuckled her from the seat and shoved her away.

Panic flooded Della's mind because _no one was steering the damn rocket_ but it turned to confusion when Donald began shoving at her. He kept shoving and shoving until she hit something; the door. Before she could ask what was happening, Della had the the feeling of being shoved and flailing about. It took a minute for her to registered that she had been pushed out of the ship and still she failed about, screaming, unable to breathe. And the something clicked that made her reach behind her back and yank a cord. Then, suddenly she was being yanked back as the air caught the parachute and she began her gentle decent to the ground. 

She was staring at the slowly approaching ground, stunned, nerves still shaking from the events that played too fast until it hit her. Donald had never read any of the books Della had read, had signed up for the Navy instead of the Air Force, Hell, was awful at any video games that involved an aircraft. And her brother was up there on a rocket that he didn't even know how to operate, much less than try to land safely.

~

As soon as she touched down onto the ground, Della ran back to the control room. Ran and ran until the burn in her legs turned into a numb feeling, until she was certain she wasn't even breathing. Until the outside gave away to dark walls and she could hear Scrooge's screaming.

"It hasn't bin tested! Ye need tae come down now, Della! Della, answer me! DEL-!"

She's heard Scrooge shout like that when their adventuring took a dark turn, when someone is about to get hurt or they get lost. One time, they had been in a maze and something furry and small had caught Della's eye. She had wandered off, lost track of time, and when she had meet up with Donald and Scrooge they had been yelling for her in a desperate and scared tone that left guilt in her stomach.

Now she was hearing it again and it was coming from her too.

"Donald's on the rocket!" she yelled, pressing a hand to her side, feeling a pain there. "It's Donald!"

Scrooge had jumped, stared at her and Della could see more horror and dread trickle down it. "Donald!" He turned his attention back to the radio and the screen that displayed the rocket shooting itself torwards the sky and above. "Donald, kin ye hear me! Lad, please, answer me!"

Her legs were moving without her doing and her hands were snatching the microphone from Scrooge's hands. "Donald!" Her voice was cracking and laced with panic. "Donald, grab the wheel! There should be a button labeled HS! Push it and a heat shield should come up!" She knows what she's saying, she's read the books in the solitude of her room, late at night when only the house breathed out the gurgle of a pipe or a creak on the floor. "Try to-" The mice was wrenched from her hand.

"DONALD DUCK, ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!" roared her uncle, gripping the mice so tightly that Della feared it might break. But, there was fear in there as there was fear in Della.

The two shouted and shouted until their throats felt scratched. They shouted until they at last looked up and saw that the rocket was still building altitude. They shouted until Scrooge glanced up at the screen again and gasped, a horrified gasp. Glancing up as well, Della saw the rocket began to tip down, down until it was like a falling arrow. Now they were shouting at Donald to turn up because there was water, to push a button or flick any switch, to move away from the suffocating water that was merciless in its own clear, beauitful way. 

Della saw it. Saw the rocket continue to fall, saw it hit the water so fast it was like a blur. Saw it bob and sink in the water. Saw the bubbles rise up and pop at the surface. Saw the bold red words **TRANSMISSION LOST** appear on screen, flashing.

She heard Scrooge yelling, begging for Donald to answer them, to respond, to say something, voice cracking like old leather that revealed it's soft, inner lining. But it was like there was staic there too, layering over his words. It layered and layered until there was no sound.

She was still as stone. Maybe she was stone, turned to stone and Donald was there with the cure or an amulet to turn her back, hugging her and scolding her, saying that _you scared me Del, never do that again_. And Della would do it again and Donald would be there, at her heels, waiting to catch her if she fell.

Except he wasn't there. He was still in the rocket after trying to catch Dell and he did catch her because she's standing there, unscratched and not choking on sea water as a rocketship sinked deeper and deeper. She was there and Donald wasn't.

Donald was-

Donald-

Something was building up inside of her, something rising rapidly from the tips of her toes, touching her inside in a gentle way that was still painful, shooting up her throat. She choked on it, but it came out, a twisted noise that spoke a thousand words. _N_ _o, not Donald, come back Donald, I'm sorry, take me, come back, bro, Don_. It stuttered off into a sob and came back again, this time soft along with tears. Legs didn't work anymore, they gave up and Della let them, falling to the ground.

She couldn't breathe. And Donald probably couldn't either,


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bently continued to stare at him before clearing his throat. "Mr. McDuck, I heard about what happened to you...nephew. I only came her to offer my condolences."
> 
> Scrooge inhaled sharply before turning away from the monecule wearing vulture. There was a sharp pain searing through his chest, quick and too stubborn to go away, and a shake in his hands. The sight of the blinking red words didn't help at all.

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

_'Chaynge th' station.'_

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

_'Maybe Ae needs anither radio. Ae could ask S.H.U.S.H. Thay owe me, A've risked mah neck fur thaim tae mony times.'_

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

_'A submarine. Yin wi' atleast twa radios fae S.H.U.S.H., perfaissional drivers, maps, a state-of-the-art radio...'_ **  
**

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

_'Why wont this damn thing WORK?!'_

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

 **'** _A'm_ _fauchelt, sae, sae tired...'_

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

_'Ae hae tae fin' him.'_

**TRANSMISSION LOST**

"Mr. McDuck?"

Scrooge jumped and spun around in his stool. It was Bently, standing in the doorway. Light from the hall made his silhouette dark, forcing Scrooge to squint at the vulture. It was then that he noticed how his spectacles were more smudged than ever. 

"Yes?" Scrooge asked, taking his spectacles off and wiping them clean.

Bently took a deep breath and walked into the room, looking around. Following his gaze, Scrooge glanced around the room. The only things that were there was a crumpled up piece of paper and Della's spacesuit that lay abandoned on the floor. The helmet for the suit lay forgotten beside it.

Bently too stared at the suit and helmet before turning his gaze to his boss. "Mr. McDuck," he began in a low tone. "When was the last time you left this room?"

Scrooge blinked and his mind, which felt like something had rolled it out with a rolling pin, tried to remember the day when he had entered the room to fiddle around with something. Then...

"I dinnae know." The words came out without thought and Scrooge slapped his beak shut. He shouldn't have said that. He should _not_ have said that. Otherwise, people will fret over him and see him as a wizened old man who needed a hearing aid. He wasn't any of that and he refused to be.

Bently continued to stare at him before clearing his throat. "Mr. McDuck, I heard about what happened to you...nephew. I only came here to offer my condolences."

Scrooge inhaled sharply before turning away from the monecule wearing vulture. There was a sharp pain searing through his chest, quick and too stubborn to go away, and a shake in his hands. The sight of the blinking red words didn't help at all.

"And," Bently continued. "To tell you that-Well, I believe you should leave this room."

Scrooge wanted to be angry. Furious. He wanted to shout at Bently, cut him down with a tongue as razor sharp as any sword. Tell him that he didn't need any condolences or pity. Tell him that he couldn't just leave because what if he missed a chance. Slipped up so bad that he lost a chance to save-

The pain returned, a familar thorn in the side.

"Ae dinnae need tae leave this room," said Scrooge, keeping his gaze on the gigantic screen. "What Ae needin' is tae call...an old aquantince. Is thare anythin' important ye wanted tae tell me, Bently?"

"Uh, yes, actually-"

"What is it?"

"Your neice requested that you come visit her room. Back at the manor."

Della. Scrooge felt something heavy settle in his chest at the mention of her and, with a difficulty that startled him, stood. A small cracking noise filled the room as his joints dealt with what felt like the first movements in-How long _has_ he been sitting here?

The familar feel of his cane helped as Scrooge made his way to the door. The light from the hall instantly caused his eyes water up and he shut them, hissing slightly. ' _When were they this bright?'_ He heard feet near him and at the corner of his eyes, saw Bently step forward torward him, looking relieved. The heavy weight in Scrooge's lessened slightly at that. He suppose he should thank the vulture for checking up at him, for delivering Della's message to him.

Instead he said,"That wull be all" in a tone that sounded too stiff, too dead for his own ears. The old duck turned and began to walk down the halls, not wanting to see the look on one of his board of director's face. Be it pity, concern, a somber expression-Scrooge didn't want to see it.

There was a limo waiting for him in the parking lot. One of the board members must have set it. Again, Scrooge felt the weight in his chest and could've sworn that it had increased at the thought of being being so dismissive to one of his board of directors. Perhaps he could raise his paycheck by 10¢. Is that good enough? Maybe more?

Scrooge felt the car make it's way through the roads of Duckburg and leaned back into the seats, closing his eyes. They itched and he felt himself longing for a warm bed. The ache in his stomach also made him crave a hot meal with his favorite cup of tea. When these thoughts crossed his mind, however, Scrooge felt himself inwardly recoil. He sat up beacuse why did he deserve these leather seats when Donald had to fly an aircraft even though he had no idea what he was doing? Why did he get a warm meal and tea when his nephew chocked on seawater? Tears begin to prick the old duck's itchy eyes. Why did he get to see Della when it should be Donald, who knew his sister like the back of his hand.

If only he had never thought of the Spere of Selene. If only he had hidden it better, in an old cave or even the Bin. If only he had tried to call someone for help instead of shouting into the mice like a desperate maniac. If only he had been smarter, tried harder, thought faster. If he had, Donald might have been with him, sitting besides him, giving him his trademark smile and scolding either him or Della for being to reckless or for venturing where danger lurked, waiting to pounce. Or in the kitchen, whipping up something savory. Or maybe looking for a house to buy, he had been talking about buying one for a while-

"Mr. McDuck?" Scrooge let out a yelp and turned his attention to the driver. The dog was gazing at him with furrowed brows through the divider. "We're here," he said quite uncertainly and sure enough, the view of McDuck Manor stood before them, stained glass windows gleaming in the sunlight. Scrooge blinked rapidly before giving a nod and thanking at the driver before climbing out. The limo's engine started up again and it drove off, leaving Scrooge standing there.

Exhaustation had only touched his eyes, but now it was creeping torwards his legs and made it hard to climb the steps. Scrooge fumbled with his keys slightly and stepped into the manor, closing the door softly behind him. 

And-

He saw Donald standing at the base of the stairs to the foyer, waving at people in the doorway. Saw Donald in the foyer, shaking his wet umbrella onto the rug, reaching up to hang an ornament on the towering Christmas tree, looking around suspiciously, throwing one of his classic tantrums. These all came too quickly for Scrooge and he stood there, leaning against the door, overwhelmed by-what? These sudden memories of Donald, the shock of never seeing his pair of rubber boots by the door or hearing a warbled indication that someone was home? He didn't know because there's something pricking at his eyes and a hand is pressing against them, trying to stop them but _dammit_ they keep on coming. They're sliding down his face, warm, and Scrooge is gasping for air that helps steady him.

_'He cannae be gaen. He cannae be. If he kin survive a wall crashing onto him, he kin survive this. A'm needin' tae git a submarine, need tae blether tae Della...Wait!'_

The weight in his chest was growing. Scrooge pushed himself off of the door and made his way through the halls, searching. Not in her room, not in the twin's old room, nor in the kitchen or the study. No, she was in what slowly became the nursery. Large with arching windows draped with curtains to allow sunlight in, th room held three wooden cribs, each painted red, blue, and green. A rocking chair stood in the corner, a changing station to the right of the cribs, and a dresser was pressed against the wall. There was a walk-in closet and a large bookcase containing every child book Scrooge could find, from the new store-bought ones to the ones with peeling covers passed down from generation to generation. Two large toy boxes were filled to the brim, one with toys and the other with gifts from Della's baby shower.

Della herself was sitting in the rocking chair and had all her attention focused on the three eggs swadeled in blanktes in their stroller. She didn't even look up when Scrooge entered the room nor did she look kept together. Hair a mess, scarf hanging from her shoulders, a simple light brown shirt and jeans replacing the pilot outfit she usually wore. 

"Della?" It came out tentatively and almost in a question as Scrooge stepped further into the room. Words did not come to him easly and so he let the silence build up between them.

Finally, after what felt like an enternity, Della spoke. "Why?"

Scrooge had been studying the baby blue rug and his head shot up at the question. "W-Wha'?"

"Why did you build that rocket?" His niece at last turned her face. Her eyes were tinted red, a blank look on her face. Her brows and beak were set.

His tongue is too big for for his mouth which is dryer than the Sahara Desert. Scrooge swallowed once, twice, opened his beak to speak and closed it because there were no words to speak.

For a moment, Della stared at him and he stared at the space abover her shoulder. "Answer me!" she suddenly exclaimed, the loud noise ripping the soft silence. "Answer me, goddammit!"

Now, he spoke. "It was meant tae be a gift," he explains. "A surprise. Ye wur suppose tae git it after th' eggs hatched." A pause. "Ye wanted tae gie yer bairns th' stars and Ae-"

"You what, Scrooge." The tone in Della's voice is laced with fury. "Were you-Were you trying to _help?_ 'Cause it looked like you were."

The weight in his chest was so heavy it hurt. "Della Ae-"

"Shut up," she snapped, beak twisted into a snarl. She rose from the rocking chair, fists clenched. "If you hadn't built that rocket, Donald would've been here, not at the bottom of the fucking ocean. If you hadn't built that rocket, my brother woud still be alive." The last words were hissed out almost painfully. "Why couldn't you have talked me out of it? Why did you have to keep this a secret if you knew I was going to find out?!"

"Della, Ae coudnae have known. None o' us! Please, d-"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" Della's eyes were wide as she shouted, a slight garbeled tone mixed in with it, and Scrooge could see tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. "JUST DON'T! DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU COULDN'T OF SEEN THIS HAPPENING! DON'T TELL ME YOU COULD'VE HID THE ROCKET BETTER! AND DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME I COULDN'T HAVE KNOWN THAT THIS WOULD HAPPEN! BECAUSE I'M SICK OF IT! I'M SICK OF THIS SHIT!"

She began to pace. "WHAT MADE YOU THINK A ROCKET WAS A GOOD GIFT?! WHY DIDN'T YOU TALK ME OUT OF THIS?! HOW HARD COULD THAT HAVE BEEN, SCROOGE?! HOW HARD WAS IT TO SAY THAT I NEEDED TO BE WITH MY BABIES INSTEAD OF DOING SOMETHING SO-SO DANGEROUS?!

Della fell silent, panting as tears streaming down the sides of her face. Scrooge had the urge to turn away, to run and he squashed it. He would do no such thing. Instead, he let silence fall before them again.

"Say something," Della whispered almost pleadingly, blinking rapidly.

Scrooge gripped his cane tightly before speaking. He meant to say something logical, to try and steer him and his niece onto more sturdy ground. Instead, out came out words tripping over themselves. 

"We dinnae know fur sure if Donald is gone. W-Whit if he pat on a suit before he crashed? Whit if he managed tae git out before th' rocket sank? We coud send oot submarines, wi' radios-high quality ones-n' track down th' remains o' th' ship! Ah c-could pull a few strings, ask fur a few favo-"

"You think he's still alive," Della muttered, a look of disbelief growing on her face.

"He haes tae be!" Panic was setting in at the look of disbelief and Scrooge clutched his cane even tighter. "Please, las, believe me-"

"Believe you?!" Anger replaced disbelief. "BELIEVE YOU! DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?! DONALD'S DEAD, SCROOGE! DEAD!"

"Bit whit if-"

"YOU SAW IT HAPPEN, YOU SAW THE ROCKET SINK! YOU-"

"AE KNOW!" The scream tore out of him, scraping his throat. Scrooge could feel heat in his cheeks and felt so many things bubbling in his chest, about to spill and he let them. "AE KNOW, DELLA!"

He was spilling now, spilling it all out after keepin it in a tightly-sealed jar for too long. "Ae saw it 'n' mah mind coudnae tak' it. Ah didnae wantae because that's Donald. He-I love him 'n' ah bult` th' spear fur ye 'n' Ae shouldn't hae. Ae should hae hid it or juist ne'er bult' th' damn thing! Ae juist wanted ye happy. Ae wanted tae mak' yer weans happy!"

The pain was spreading, constricting Scrooge's chest and yet he continued to speak. "Ae shuid hae dane better. Ae shuid hae tried tae dae something forby yell at him, shuid hae ne'er bult` that ship! A'm sorry, A'm so sorry! Aye, a'm waantin' tae bring him back! Ae waant tae bring Donald back, Della! he cannae hae juist-"

Scrooge choked on the last word because _dead_ is not something he wants to asscoiate Donald with. His nephew is lively, with a quick temper and rolling with the punches. He's stubborn, the one that won't let you leave your room _because that waterfall got you sick, so eat your soup, Dumbella_. He's brave, the one whose not afraid to swing some blows at someone who decided to badmouth the people he loves _and he doesn't care if he got hurt, no one talks shit about you but me._ He's the attentive one, always checking up on the people in the group _because no one is getting hurt or left behind._ He's caustious, sticking to the ground while those around him fly high _because it's too dangerous, too risky, someone might get hurt!_ Donald Duck does not back down, not now and not ever.

_'Mibbie that's why.'_

Scrooge is suddenly aware that there are tears streaming down his face, that his shoulders are shaking, and that Della is stepping forward. She keeps on walking until she's in his arms, sobbing and all Scrooge can do is wrap his arms around her. Della buries her face in his chest, wetting his coat with her tears while Scrooge strokes her hair, shedding tears of his own. They both stood there in eachother's arms, letting grief wash over them and allowing it to wash out every other sensation. Neither wanted to let go, both needing someone to hold them as they cried. And so Della weeped for her brother alongside with her uncle who tried to comfort his distraught niece.

They stayed like that for God knows how long. Finally, after Della's sobs had turned into sniffles and Scrooge has stopped his own crying, his niece steps away from their embrace. 

Della stares at him and something crosses her eyes. "You still think he's out there," she mutteres. It's not a question, it's a statement and she's not wrong. Scrooge nods. Deep down, he knows that Donald is out there, somewhere, waiting for someone. 

A small, hollow laugh escapes his niece and she runs her fingers through her messy hair, pushing it back. "I figured," she says. "I figured. It doesn't matter what you think to me, though. Just wanted to let you know."

He flinches and thinks back to a time when Della was younger and hung on his every word about a plan or a story about an old adventure. Time had passed too quickly and know she stood before him with a tongue like a blunt sword. Scrooge felt his chest tighten and breathing seemed difficult.

He wanted to say something, wanted to reach out and take his neice in his arms again, tell her that it'll be okay and they'll get through this. When Scrooge did find the right words, Della had turned away and was walking back to the eggs. ' _Thay wont know aboot Donald'.'_ Sure, they'll hear stories of him, but would they know about how he acts when he drunk or how he hates loud noises because of the Navy or that his college band would drive his uncle up the wall?

Scrooge makes his way to his office. Sits himself down on the chair and stares at nothing in particular. There's too much going on, so much they could have happened, not enough things said.

He's tired and in dire need of a bath along with a hot meal.

He picks up a pen and starts writing. With the other hand, he reaches for his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Bently Buzzard is one of Scrooge's board of directors. You see him and the other three in the first episode and the Great Dime Chase one.  
> -Yay, regret and guilt in a limo!  
> -Dont you dare tell me there wouldn't be a nursery. Don't. You. Dare.  
> -I hc that when Della gets pissed off, she gets a hint of Donald's garbeleness in her voice. You have to listen closely to hear it  
> -Holy fuck, all these angsty emotions
> 
> I had a hard time writitng this for some reason, but one this is for certain: Della is accepting the fact that Donald is gone while Scroog is as stubborn as a mule.  
> See ya in the next one scouts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's still a large puddle of anxiety in his stomach, one that makes his leg bounce. 'Whatever it is, everything will be fine. Everything has to be fine.'

Gladstone is reclining in his chair, surveying the garden of a cabin he's been given for a week. The sunflowers are the tallest, light making the petals see-through while the Baby's Breath and larkspurs circle around them. The smell from them is faint, but heavenly with the help of a cool breeze. Gladstone lifts his head up to the baby blue sky, wincing slightly at its brightness. ' _Maybe if I stare a little longer.'_ He gives up, blinking rapidly at the wetness of his eyes. ' _People can look at the Sun longer than they can at the sky...I think.'_

He was in Vultuver, gaining the cabin by guessing how many grapes were in a jar (it was 106). The cabin itself, with its three floors, indoor hot tub in the basement, and breathtaking view, was also housing three more people who had been close to guessing the number of grapes. It was a perfect place to go to after a long day of hiking in the woods. Gladstone had quickly become friends with them, especially that witty owl Olive even though she always seems tired.

"Hey, Gladstone!" Said bird, twisted around in his chair to see Leon, one of the dogs, standing in the doorway of the sliding glass holding up the home phone. "Phone for you!"

' _But, I'm so_ _comfy! I don't want to get_ up. _'_ " 'Kay, throw it," he says, holding up a hand. He's startled when the phone is actually thrown at him and nearly drops it. "What was that for?!"

"You said throw it."

"Leon, I didn't really mean throw it!"

The tall dog shrugged nonchalantly. "Choose your words better next time." With that, Leon shuts the door, leaving Gladstone to stare after him.

"Okaaaaaay." Deciding not to look too much into it, he presses the phone to his ear hole. "This is Gladstone."

"Hi, Gladstone," the familar voice of his first cousin, Della, speaks and the bird feels his beak curl into a grin. "Hey, if it isn't my favorite cousin! How are ya', how are the eggs?" The last time Gladstone had seen Della was after she had laid her eggs, when he had gifted her some fancy baby teething rings from Paris. 

There's silence on the other line and Gladstone quirks an eyebrow. "Uh, Dumbella? You there?"

Finally, she spoke in such a quiet voice he almost missed what she had said. "Can you come over? Please?"

"I-Sure. Of course. Why? Did something happen?" He thinks of the unhatched eggs, fragile and irreplaceable. "Is it the eggs?"

"No-The eggs couldn't be better. Its something else and I just need you to come to Duckburgh."

Uncertainty is pooling into Gladstone's stomach. "Della, what's wrong?"

"Just come to Duckburgh as fast as you can, Glady." Glady. Della hasn't called him that since they were kids. Before Gladstone could say anything the line went dead.

His mind was filled with unanswered questions. ' _Why did Della sound so upset? Did something happen with the eggs? Or her? Are they hurt? Was there a fight?'_ These questions swam and swam around his head as he continued to stare at the phone, wanting to call his cousin and demand some answers.

Instead, a new goal enters his mind: Get to Duckburgh as soon as possible.

He enters the cabin, climbs the stairs up to his cozy room. Grabs his suitcase and begins to pack all his clothes. When he's done, Gladstone grabs the folded up map of Vultuver and searches for the next flight to Duckburgh.

"You're leaving?"

Olive is standing in the doorway, eyeing his zipped-up suitcase.

Gladstone nods. "Yeah, I gotta go. Some family trouble back at home. You know how it is."

"I guess," Olive mutters, crossing her arms. She quirks an eyebrow. "Do you even have enough money for a ticket?"

"I'll figure it out on the way." More like his luck will figure it out on the way. Maybe someone will drop their ticket or the airport will announce that they have an empty seat in first class. Or maybe he'll go to the ATM which will spit out a couple hundreds. And if that happens, Gladstone will just roll with it.

A quick scan at the map shows that there's an airport 4 miles away. A quick glance at the clock shows its 3:02. If he can leave now, he could check to see if there's a flight.

Ignoring the voice in his head shouting at him that the airport is 4 miles away and that he was unprepared for this trip, Gladtsone grins what he hopes is a normal grin at Olive. "Hey, can you do me a solid and give me a ride? To the airport?"

"Gladstone, you don't even have a ticket."

"I'll get it on the way."

"That's impossible."

"Will you help me if I saw the magic word?"

"So that you can cast a mind controlling spell on me?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Olive just take me to the airport!" With that, Gladstone pocketed his phone and grabbed his suitcase, heading for the stairs with an owl on his tail. He ignores the questioning looks of Leon and heads outside to the driveway, gravel crunching under his feet. Olive's car, a blue BMW with dust settling in on it's sides, is the closest to him. The car's owner is catching up with Gladstone, keys in hand.

"Alright, alright, I'll take you to the airport. Just know that because of this, I'm adding you to a groupchat where you will be spammed," Olive says, unlocking her car. Gladstone nods absentmindely as he shoves his suitcase into the backseat and climbs into the front. The inside of the car far too warm for a day with a cool breeze and he makes a noise at this. When they're pulling out of the driveway, the windows are immediately rolled down.

Through the whole car ride, Gladstone's leg is bouncing up and down, up and down as he glances at the clock. 3:20...3:25...3:30...He wonders if he'll make it on time to convince the desk to give him a ticket. As that though crossed his mind, Gladtsone rolls the window down even further and sticks his hand out.

"I really, really wish I had enough money for a plane ticket right now!" he calls out over the noise of the rush of wind ignoring the feel of Olive's gaze on the back of his head. A minute passes, two minutes and as a car zooms by Gladstones feels something being pressed into his outstrecthed hand. Looking down, he smiles at the sight of a wad of cash before clenching his finger around it, not wanting it to be blown away.

"How did you do that?!" Olive exclaims, eyes darting from the road to Gladstone.

"All in the wrist."

" 'All in the wrist' my ass! This stuff always happens to you! The restaurant where you get free desert, that new coat, some cop saving you from a falling brick. It only happens to you, Gladstone. No one else. What are you, some wizard or something?"

The last bit makes him laugh. "I'm far from a wizard, Olive Branch, let me tell you that. But, I think my cousin's friend is. Atleast that's what he tells me."

"Yeah, I'm not talking about your cousin's friend, Gladstone. I'm talking about how the scale tips to you all the time. Its...unatural."

Unatural. Its a word Gladstone is familar with, the one he heard along with _strange, weird, not possible,_ and _incredible_ , whispered by his friend's parents when they thought he couldn't hear them. Or they would be said bluntly by the older kids at school who grow bored with tormenting the other kids. Sometimes, its strangers coming up to him with awe in their tone and wanting to be with him everywhere, just to get a bit of luck as well. Its become a natural occurrence, a fact that scares and bothers him to no end. But, he's grown up with these words and accepts them because a part of him can't help but agrees with the words. Multiple people agree as well.

Including this one.

Gladstone glances at the clock. 3:46. "Can't this thing go a little faster?" he asks, leg bouncing.

"Hey, you do not ask the driver to go faster. That's like the worst thing you could. Also, even thought we've met in four days and this may seem like I'm being noisy..." She trails off and switches lanes. "Forget it."

"No, tell me. If you're that curious about my luck. I'm mean, you're not the first one."

"Yeah, now I'm not gonna ask you 'cause that last bit sounds wrong, not gonna' lie. But, if what you're saying is true-about your luck-then me getting you to the airport without getting a ticket would be a hitch, right?" Olive eyes him and there's a quirk of a smile in her beak.

Gladstone blinks at the owl. He's used to people finding out about his luck, shooting question after question at him while swallowing up all the answers. Its curiosity, a dangerous thing that has done dangerous things. Its curiosity that makes Gladstone clamp his beak shut when it comes to his luck and causes him to try to lie low in order to avoid the creeps that want one thing from him. Its curiosity that makes Gladstone wonder if the person he's eating dinner with is going to kidnap him care only about his luck. But, there were still a few people here and there that actually respect him and don't ask about luck or how it works or if it could affect them if they do this or that. There's so little people like that and he's so, so grateful for that sometimes that it scares him, how much this kind of stuff occurs. 

He shakes his head because now is not the time and instead says,"You're absolutely right" and damn, if that doesn't sounds like it belongs in some type of action movie, he doesn't know what.

Miraculously, they make it to the airport while going a mile or two above the speed limit and probably giving some drivers road rage. Olive pulls up to the entrance with a skid of her car's tires and unlocks the doors. Gladstone springs from his seat and struggles with his suitcase. A quick glance at the time-4:18-brings about a jolt panic and adrenaline. He finally manages to get the suitcase out and slams the door.

"Thanks!" he calls to Olive who gets of the car to wave at him.

"Don't forget about that group chat!"

There are lines at every desk, long as Hell. Gladstone scans every one of them and a small bit of tension bleeds from his shoulders when he finds a short one. It somehow only has four people and when he's at the front blurts out, "Is this enough money for a flight to Duckburgh?" The wad of money is slammed down onto the desk. It suddenly struck him that he must look crazy, bursting into the airport like that. A hand went up to smooth out his curls and adjust his hat.

The lady at the desk blinked in surprise. She quickly counted the money and checked something on the computer. "Uh, yes, sir. This is enough money for a first class seat. Where is you destination?"

"Duckburgh." Gladstone fumbles with the outer pocket of his suitcase, taking out his passport. "Is there a flight today to Duckburgh?"

"Hold on a minute, sir." The lady types something in her computer before facing him again. "Yes, it leaves in an hour. I've already gotten your ticket, sir."

"Thank you, thank you." He accepts the ticket and steps out of line, walking to the baggage check line and reading the ticket. It's at gate 15, they've given him a window seat and sure enough, the flight is in an hour. Enough time to eat something and relax at the gate, try and sort what's going through in his head.

He ends up at a Thai place and while he waits for his noodles, sits back and replays the phone call between him and Della.

Della had sounded...tired. Bone-tired, the type of exhaustation that leaves you dazed and woozy. Her voice had cracked as well when she had asked if he could get to Duckburgh. Della's voice hardly ever cracked; always on full blast when she discovered an idea to kill the boredom, even loud whispers that she couldn't lower. Her voice only cracked when she was beyond upset meaning that something had happened at Duckburgh.

Had it been Donald? Had they argued about something again? Gladstone could recall the last time he had saw the twins, how their arguments had lead to tension filling every room they were in. Or maybe it had to do about Della brooding? The process was long and ansty Della was always the first one to throw open the doors for recess to get to the swings. Brooding required patience and Gladstone hoped that his cousin had enough.

Scenario after scenario were created in the bird's mind even as he ate his food. They continued until he boarded the plane. First class was a place he had becomed used to with its recliner chairs, larger trays for the best meals from the menu the plane staff had to offered, a good selection of movies. Gladstone remembered when he had first traveled first class, how he had marveled at everything from the leather to the view with a glass of lemonade in his hand. He had never thought that sleeping in a plane would be so comfortable. Even now he sank into the leather with a sigh of content.

There's still a large puddle of anxiety in his stomach, one that makes his leg bounce. ' _Whatever it is, everything will be fine. Everything_ has _to be fine.'_

~

It isn't until the plane touches down onto Calisota does Gladstone realise that he doesn't have a ride. He almost wants to laugh outloud at the fact that he had asked for a car ride in Vuluver when he need one to get to Duckburgh.

' _There's a bus stop over there. Just wait and you'll hitch a ride, Gladstone. Duckburgh can't be that far away.'_ Readjusting his hat, he makes his way over to the bench where the bus stop was, cringing slightly at the smoker he walked by. A minute passed, two, then a bus rolled buy and stopped with a huff of steam.

"Heading to Duckburgh!" the driver called as soon as the doors were open. Gladstone quickly climbed the steps to the bus, hefting his suitcase with him and paying the driver. As the airport slid out of view, he checked his phone for any messages. Only 12 from a group chat he had been invited to. With a feeling like he was about to open a box full of fire ants (and belive him, its happened) the bird scrolled through his contents. He tapped on the one he was looking for and waited for the phone to be picked up.

The ringing continued until the clear, cool tone spoke as always: " _Your call has been_ _forwarded to an automat-"_

_'Maybe she's busy,'_ Gladstone's mind tried to supply, pocketing the phone. The small pool of anxiety had quickly formed, though.

Gladstone was sure that Duckburgh was the type of city that would change the smallest things about itself. All the buildings were familar sights to him, the occasinal shops he could remember, but there would be that one building or new store that looked brand new. Still, it was a place that he was sure to forget but anytime he came back it was like he knew where to get the best food or see the greatest views.

The bus dropped him off on a street Gladstone didn't recognise where he was able to call a taxi without whistling. ' _Man, I've been doing so much traveling today. But, vehicle-wise.'_

Finally, the familar view of McDuck Manor came into view. It, like almost everything in Duckburgh, looked untouched from the last time he was here. What was a difference was that there were numerous cars lining up on the driveway. Even from the backseat, Gladstone recognised his Uncle Ludwig's old 1960s Corvette, looking shiny in the sun. When he climbed out of the cab, he noticed Cousin Gus's Pontiac Streamliner there too. ' _Did they invite everyone? Did I miss a family reunion or something?'_

Gladstone climbed the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, someone answered the door, a tall women who looked like she could easilly benchpress a train and not break a sweat. She was dressed smartly in a purple blazer and grey pencil skirt, hair pulled in a bun and looking down at Gladtsone through her glasses.

"May I help you?" the woman asked, British accent as clear as day. Her voice was soft, something that took Gladstone by surprise; he had expected a more deep one.

Still, he smiled pleasantly at her. "Gladstone Gander, m'am. My cousin, Della, called me earlier to tell me to come her straight away." Now he felt his smile faltered slightly. "Is everything alright? She sounded worried over the phone."

The woman's eyes had widened when Gladstone had introduced himself and now her face settled into a somber expression. "It pains me to say this, Mr. Gander, but everthing is not alright."

That puddle of anxiety? Growing. "What happe-"

A figure appears besides the taller woman, a familar figure. "Gladstone!" Gus exclaimed, giving him a small smile. "It's so good to see ya!"

Gus looked the same the last time Gladstone had seen him. Still round and dressed in a vest with a red tie to complete the look. His red hat, however, was not on. The goose turned to the woman still standing in the doorway. "Ah'll take it from here, Mrs. Beakly."

Gladstone waited until they had entered before turning to his cousin. "Gus, what's going on? I just got a call from Della and all I know is that she sounded upset. Is everyone here?"

"Almost everyone. An' Ah don't know either, cus. The aunts an' uncles all went into the big meeting room an' haven't come out yet." As he talked, Gus walked up the stairs and down the halls where numerous doors led to one of the hundred bedrooms in the manor. "But, Ah don't think something good happened. Where were ya anyway?"

"Vultuver. Won a cabin in the woods there and made some friends." Another set of stairs came up and he struggled to get his suitcase up it. "Thanks for the help, Gus."

"No prob', cus!" Gus turned his head to give him a wide grin and he matched it with an eyeroll. 

Finally, they reached Gladstone's room in the manor. His room was still the same: the walls were painted the yellow color that turned a slight gold when the light filtered through the windows. The sheets on the bed were still a light blue Gladstone liked and the white dresser oppisite to the bed looked as neat as ever. He set his suitcase down on the bed and strecthed himself on the sheets, a sigh of content leaving his mouth. "Y'know, I just realized that that plane ride was really long."

"And yet you managed to get here on time!" Gladstone immediatley sat up and peered around Gus to see a a bright red sweater. Fethry stood in the doorway grinning widely at him, starnds of hair poking out of his ever-present hat.

"Fethry!" Gladstone pushed himself off the bed and bounded over to his younger cousin who wrapped his arms around him tightly. "Good to see yo-Ow!"

"Sorry," Fethry apologized, releasing him. "I just haven't seen you in a while and because of that I have every right to hug you." 

Fethry had grown taller over the years. Gladstone could still remember the days when his cousin was a head shorter than him. Now, Fethry was the same height as him and seemed tired, lines under his eyes. 

Gladstone smiled at him. "I guess you're right." Then, he remembered why they had been called here and the smile fell. "Do you know what's happening?"

"Well, kinda. When I got here, Uncle Scrooge called all the parents into a room. I tried to catch what they were saying with my new listening device-"

"He dropped it when he pulled it out an' it broke," Gus interjected.

"-but I was able to get what they were talking about!"

There was a small moment of silence as Gladstone and Gus waited for Fethry to continue. Except the hat-wearing bird continued to stand there with a triumphant look on his face. Finally, Gladstone asked hesitantly, "And they were talking about?"

Fethry blinked. "Oh, right! They were talking about Donald."

"Donald?" Gladstone had last seen his cousin at the baby shower. He had looked untroubled, beaming at everyone and bustling about making sure that everything was alright. Donald had even opened a bottle of champagne even though the cork had hit Gus in the eye.

Fethry nodded and stepped out of the room, his two cousins following him. "Yeah, and when I asked why they were talking about Donald, Abner told me that you were here so..." He trailed off before gesturing at all three of them as they walked down the halls.

Gladstone could not help but feel frustrated. "Why aren't they telling us anything?" he asked.

Gus shrugged. "Maybe something happened."

Gladstone recalled the phone call with Della. "Maybe you're right. When Della called me, she sounded really upset." They all fell silent as they pondered over the matter at hand. As they did so, the continued to walk down the hall, not noticing the figure that had slipped out of a nearby bathroom. A soft "Guys?" was what drew all three of them from their thought.

Gladstone turned and saw Della standing there, dressed in jeans and a brown shirt, light blue scarf was slung carelessly over her shoulder. Like Fethry, she had a tired look on her face but it look more pronounced. She also looked amazed at the sight of them standing there.

Gladstone didn't care about that. "Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaimed, walking up to Della. "If it isn't the mother-to-be!" Upon a closer look, he noticed that her hair was a mess, some feathers on her face askew, and that her eyes were tinted red. She continued to stare at Gladstone even when he stood in front of her. "I'm here, like you asked. So, what's wrong?"

Della did not answer. Rather, she continued to stare at Gladstone, eyebrows raised in what he blieved in disbelief. Her beak moved around as if it were trying to find the right words. Finally, she spoke. "You're all here?"

"Uh, yes," said Fethry. "We all got your call. Well, Uncle Scrooge called Gus." He jerked a thumb at the larger bird who raised a hand in greeting.

Gladstone was now staring at Della. "Yeah, you called me when I was in Vultouver." 

A small "Oh" left Della. And now that puddle of anxiety and other emotions that have been added has grown and are spreading and now Gladstone is starting to get worried. Because whenever he comes to visit, Della is always all smiles and ready to catch him up on the latest artifact they've gotten or what funny stuff had happened to Donald. She's always vibrant and chatty and just- _happy._ Not silent and quiet with bags under her eyes (has she been getting enough sleep, she needs it because of the eggs, has she been sleeping?) and red eyes like she had been-

"Del, have you been crying?" Gladstone's voice rose at the end of the question and his hands rest on his cousin's shoulder. 

Quick as a flash, Fethry is by his side, peering at Della with concer. "What happened?"

"Is it the eggs?" That's Gus, on Della's left, looking down at her. "Or Donald?"

There were very few moments in Gladstone's life where he saw Della loose it. Not in an angry way-which was as terrifying as Donald losing it-or as a reaction to a new comic book at the store, but in a a different way. When she finally let it all out and let the tears fall. It was like that time when her parents had died, after the funeral when she had clung to a pillow her father had bought her. Or that time when Fethry had gotten lost in the woods by the farm and it had gotten dark and Della had actually looked scared. Or that time when a prank had gone wrong and sent Della hurtling back into time and had _lost it,_ screaming and and sobbing at some unknown figure to stop, to leave her alone, for someone to help her. Those had been the times when it seemed that Della did not have any control over her emotions and had decided to leave the door to the Tasmanian devil's cage open. Like right now.

As soon as Gus had finished asking his last question, Della had gone still under Gladstone's hands. Her face spasmed and it look like she was suffering from a stomachache while her breathing became to come out in short gasps; Gladstone could see tears welling up at the corner of the duck's eyes and stepped back in shock. When he did, Della let out a shriek that sounded as if wounded. Then she was sobbing, ugly sobs that left her gasping for air and shook her whole body.

For a split second, no one did anything, too stunned by the reaction. Finally, Fethry reached out and pulled Della into a hug. "Shh, shhh," he whispered as he lead the bawling woman to one of the many guest rooms. Gladstone and Gus followed after them, wanting to do something rather than nothing. 

In the room, Della has her head buried in Fethry's sweater, shoulders shaking. Her cousin still has his arms around her, stroking her messy hair. Gus sits by her as well, gaze both lost and concerned; there was a small hint of distraught at the sight of his weeping cousin. His hands hover over her arms, not quite sure what to do but trying.

And Gladstone? Gladstone is still wanting answers to all these questions because _what the actual Hell?_ Instead, he mumbles out about getting water and at Fethry's nod, exists the room and heads for the kitchen.

He hates it when Della cries. Hell, he hates it when anyone he loves cries. It meant that they were hurting, that they were feeling awful, that something awful had occured and Gladstone's mind would always want him to demand _who did this and where are they?_ No one makes his friends cry because they were having a bad day and decided to take it out on his unfortunate friend who had nothing to do with that bad day. No one made any of his family cry because of some grudge. But, instead of demanding for questions he tries his best to stop the tears usually with a glass of water, a hug, try to crack a joke. But what he wanted to know is why was Della crying. Had an arguement occured between her and Donald? Had his short-tempered cousin said something hurtful? How hurtful could it have been if for the whole family to flock together. Unless-and Gladstone felt his chest tighten slightly at the idea-something had happened to Donald, something that Della knew. And if Della knew, why didn't she tell him over the phone.

The walk to the kitchen is short and its with a start did Gladstone realise he's just standing there. He quickly fills a glass with water and makes his way back to the room. There, Della's sobs had lessened and yet she still lets out a few sniffles. Gladstone quickly hands her the glass which she accepts with a quiet "Thanks." Gus scooted to make room for him on the bed

"Feeling better?" Fethry askes gently as she took a sip. At Della's nod, his arms loosened around her until they hang around her shoulders. " Kay. Do you wanna' tell us why you started crying?" He's met only with silence as Della fixed her gaze on the glass in her hand. "C'mon, Del. We want to help."

"Yeah," Gus piped up, leaning forward to look at Della around Gladstone. "We can't just sit an' watch you act all down in the dumps. Just tell us your woes an' we'll help."

"You can't," Della mumbles out and its so faint Gladstone almost doesn't catch it.

"What was that?" Gus asked, leaning forward more.

"I said," his cousin repeated, this time in a much louder tone. "You. Can't." She straightens up and Fethry's arms leave her shoulders.

"Why can't we?" Gladstone asks, trying not to snap because goddamn, is Della acting too stubborn right now which something he does _not_ need. He's traveled from another state, for God's sake, with nothing bu this mind to try and come up with various theories in order to answer some still unanswered questions. Confusion is quickly turning into irritation. "What could possibly have happened for you to throw an unplanned family reunion?"

"It's because..." Della trails off and her gaze returns to the glass; Gladstone could see her throat move as she swallowed once, twice. "It's because something did happen-t-to D-Donald."

"What happened?" Fethry asked gentle, a hand on her shoudler. "What happened with Donald?"

"He-I-I did _something_." Her eyes blinked rapidly as tears came to the surface again. "And Donald got caught in it and it wasn't suppose to happen-"

"Della, what happened?!" Gladstone didn't mean to say in an almost shout, but the feeling of dread settling into his stomach as softly as falling snowflakes and a voice whispering in his head that his suspicions were right drove him to. "What happened to Donald?!"

A sharp intake of breath. Then, she spoke in a choked whisper. "He _died_."

The silence that followed was chilling and too heavy. Gladstone found it hard to breathe suddenly.

"What?," Fethry asked slowly, staring wide-eyed at Della.

There were tears falling now, tears as stubborn as the woman who was shedding them. "He died," she hissed, blinking rapidly. "There was a rocket and it went into the waters and he-" A sob cut her off.

Gladstone just stares at her, mind replaying those words over and over. He can't move, feels numb all over suddenly. Maybe his mind is refusing to believe it, maybe he's refusing to believe it because what Della just said doesn't sound real.

He gets up and makes his way to the door. There's a sudden urge to search, to look through everyone nook and cranny in this mansion because Donald can't be dead. Donald's faced countless of dangerous obstacles, has defeated so many foes in the past, and managed to get up even after falling down again and again and again. _Dead_ is not a word to associate his cousin with, who was stubborn and worried too much and would never do anything that might jeopardize his life.

His feet become a mind of it's own and carry him to room after room. Doors are opened and are either left slammed closed or left open. Closets are rummaged through, a few clothes falling from their hangers on him and the floor. Not in the kitchen, not in the foyer, not in the library, not in the dining room where the family ate all their meals, not even in the basement. The closets down their didn't provide any help.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from opening the kitchen door (it didn't hurt to check again, maybe he missed, he skimmed the place last time he was in here) and turning around saw Abner looking down at him. "Gladstone, what on earth-"

"Where's Donald?" Gladstone asked, cutting the older bird off.

Abner faltered for a split second. His beak was drawn down and his large shoulder sagged. "Oh, Gladstone-"

"Where. Is. Donald?" He had to grit them out because he knew, deep down, that he might scream. "Just answer the goddamn question, Abner."

"I-I was in the meeting room with the aunts and uncles, and Uncle Scrooge told us what happened," Abner said in a halting tone. He paused before taking a deep breath and straightening his back as if trying to gather himself for a minute. "Look, let me get you something-Where are you going?!"

Gladstone had pushed pass his older cousin and was making his way to the meeting room. He knew where it was, had snuck in there to hide during a game of hide-n-seek countless of times as a child. As he walked, he kept on glancing around for Donald to walk out of one of the rooms. ' _He could be napping, maybe he is napping in his room. I should have checked his room.'_

The door, for once, is not locked. He pushes it too hard and it slams open, startling the people inside who jump and turn. Gladstone stands there, aware of how his hands are shaking and feels his hat teetering on top of his curls, about to fall. A hand goes up to adjust it.

"Gladstone?" His Aunt Matilda, a second mother to him, stands from where she was sitting and hurries over to him. "Oh, dear, tis bin sae long!" 

Gladstone takes the hug and when she pulls back, can see the tear marks down her face and the red eyes. His aunt is holding a crumpled hankerchief in her hands but is smiling at him, looking so happy. Gladstone wants to hug her back, to ask her how is she doing and what did he miss in her life.

Except he can't. "Where's Donald?" he asked.

Tears pricked the corner of Aunt Matilda's eyes, pressing her hankerchief to her beak. "Oh, dear," she began softly. "How did ye fin' out?" 

"Della." Why was his tone so sharp? Why did his chest feel tight? "And she didn't tell me everything." His gaze lifted from hus aunt's face to the others who were watching him. "So, is anyone going to tell me?" If there was a hint of pleading in that question, Gladstone would not deny it. Right now, he'd do anything to find out what happened to Donald.

But no one speaks. They all just stare down at the table or gaze at him with sad eyes. The silence grows and grows until Gladstone is sure that its just pressing into his ears, making him go crazy for any noise. "Tell me!" he almost shouts, tearing through the silence. "Just tell me, goddamn it!"

"Scrooge." Uncle Ludwig is looking at said bird who sits at the head of the table. Gladstone jerks his head up and meets the old duck's gaze. Even from a distance he can see the askew state of his uncle's coat, the way his feathers on his are in a disarray. He looks older than the last time Gladstone had seen him, shoulders sagging and lines drawn deep into his face.

Scrooge meets his gaze with an unreadable look in it. He shifted somewhat when Ludwig spoke then seemed to deflate. When he spoke, it was in a tone that made it seem like it was about to crack.

"After Della hud leid th' eggs, she suddenly git th' idea tae give thaim something. Th' stars." Scrooge's gaze became distant, staring at nothing as his shoulders seemed to sag even more. "She mentioned it that she hud awready made some the script. Donald-he wis against it immediatley. Said it was tae dangerous, that she hud kids oan th' wey, that she wis bein' stupid. Thay kept oan arguing 'n' arguing fur days." For a split second, the edges of Scrooge's beak curled every so slightly in a fond manner. Then, the edges curled downwards as he opened his mouth again. "And Ae..." He trailed off and shut hs eyes.

Gladstone just stared at him, wanting him to continue. It was his sister who finished the sentence. "He bult` a rocket fur her," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

Gladstone just stared at the hand, not really feeling it. "What does that have to do with Donald?" he asked, stomach twisting into knots as if his body knew what someone was going to say next.

"Scrooge meant bult` th' rocket as a surprise." His attention was drawn to Grandpa Fergus whose hat was placed infront of him on the table. The aging duck addressed the table rather than Gladstone in a gravely tone. "He ne'er expected Della tae fin' oot. Nor did he expect Donald tae fin' oot as weel. Something went amiss 'n' Della managed tae git back oan th' ground but-"

"Donald didn't make it." The knots had been pulled tight, too tight. There was something in his chest, twisting and turning and hurting and why is breathing so difficult. He looked from Aunt Matilda to Uncle Ludwig, to each and every face, half of them tear-streamed. The heads were bowed in an almost repectful way almost as if in mourning.

_Mourning._ No, no, Gladstone did not want mourn. He wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly.

Scrooge's voice, quivering slightly, floated through. ""D-Donald ne'er flew anythin' afore. Whin h-he wis in th' rocket, it fell 'n' fell 'til it hit th' w-water." A hand went up to cover his face and something muffled tore from the old duck, something wet and gasping. His mother, who had been standing beside him, wrapped an arm around the shaking shoulders. 

There was something lodged in his throat, something that made it hard to swallow and it felt like he was choking. _Choking_. He didn't want to think about it but he did, he thought about Donald choking on water in a small room. And that just sounded crazy because the water is what Donald had claimed. He had always been the first one in the pool, had taken the longest showers despite the poundings on the bathroom door, loved to step into the puddles whenever it rained. Joining the Navy had not surprised Gladstone; if it was near water, Donald would be ready to hoist the sails or steer the ship. He remembers the story of Donald, Della, and Scrooge in the some rainforest, steering out of the way of ther attackers and obstacles.

_Della and Scrooge..._

_Della and Scrooge._

_Della and Scrooge._

_"_ Why?" It came out in a strangled sort of way. "Why would you do this?"

"Gladstone," his aunt began. He stepped back, eyes never leaving Scrooge's.

"Why? What the _Hell_ were you thinking? Della was going to be a _mother_ and you decided to build her _a fucking rocket!"_ He hadn't meant to shout but after what he had learned he figured he had a right to shout now. " _How could you do this?!"_

"Gladstone, please," Aunt Matilda pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Ae know-"

"No, you don't!" He was shouting at her now. "You don't understand so don't tell me all that crap. But what I do know is that all of you have been talking about this and forgot about a whole bunch of people who give a damn! We're not kids anymore so don't you dare treat us like we are!"

He was stalking torwards Scrooge and people were getting, why were they getting up? " _You!_ Why didn't you do anything to get him down?! Why did you even built it?! How could you have been _stupid_ enough to build a rocket for her?!" A thought struck him. "Did you _tell_ her to go up there?! Are-Are you guys so eager to go on some fucking adventure that you try and kill one another?!"

Scars are something Gladstone associates with the three. Scrooge had a long one that drove him to buy a cane. Della's arm had taken the slash of a sword and the skin of the scar looked shiny, almost invisible. Donald's hands were peppered with little ones. Each one of them had been pointed out and had revealed a story behind it. He could see why one would be proud of it but it was also another reason why Gladstone would rather stay home than go off on an adventure. 

"It wasnt lik' that!" Scrooge's face jerks up from his hand, a look of desperation on it. ""Della wis suppose tae git it efter th' eggs hatched! it hadnt bin tested-"

"I KNOW EXACTLEY WHAT ITS LIKE!" Something had snapped and now he was screaming, screaming as something cool ran down his face. "NO, I UNDERSTAND COMPLETELY! YOU RECKLESS IDIOTS DECIDED THAT GOING TO SPACE WAS MORE IMPORTANT THAN TAKING CARE OF THE EGGS! YOU THOUGHT THAT HELPING DELLA LEAVE HER OWN KIDS BEHIND WOULD BE FINE! AND WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT YOU GUYS WERE SO FOCUSED ON THIS THAT YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO THINK FOR ONE _FUCKING_ SECOND! WHAT I DO KNOW IS THAT BECAUSE OF YOU, DONALD'S DEAD!"

A choked noise drew his attention and, turning around, saw Fethry standing in the doorway, a hand covering his beak. Gus and Abner stood beside him with pained looks on their faces. Gladstone had not heard them enter the room. 

He quickly pushed past them and ignored the calls for him to come back, ignored the raised voices in the room. He kept on walking and walking, letting his feet be the boss of him. He did not care where they were going to take him. There's anger, disbelief, shock, and so many other emotions swirling inside of him that Gladstone knows he's going to explode again.

Life does not prepare anyone for anything and it did not prepare Gladstone when he ran into Della. Literally. The female duck bounced off of her cousin and almost dropped the empty glass she was holding. Looking at Della, Gladstone feels rage wash over him and he doesn't hold back.

"How could you?" he hissed at her. Betrayel is in that pot of emotions too.

Della blinked wide-eyed. "W-What do you me-"

"How could you leave those eggs behind?! What the Hell were you thinking? They don't want the stars, they want a mom!"

"Glady, please, don't-"

A hand is held up. "NO! You're going to listen to ME, Della! Scrooge said that the rocket hadn't been tested yet! Did that ever cross your mind, Della?! Did you even think that what you were doing might kill you?! How could you even begin to think that your kids would want _space_ rather than you?!"

His cousin's face is crumpling, folding in on itself like a wet newspaper. And Gladstone did not care. "This wasn't some adventure, this was some-some deathtrap! And you dragged Donald into it! IF YOU HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF GOING TO SPACE, DONALD WOULD HAVE BEEN HERE BUT NOW HE'S-HE'S-"

A gasp left him and realization sank into him. _Donald is dead._ Gladstone would never see his cousin again, never talk to him or laugh with him or apologize to him. Never hug him again or help eachother. Never get drunk with him or go to another country because why not. Never try to show him that if he just playes his hand like _this_ or learn to loosen up, he'd win the game or tell him about the latest addition he added to his garden. Never ask his opinion on something or about a story he had never mentioned before.

Gladstone would never see Cousin Donald ever agin. He doesn't know why it took him that long to realize it.

But now he's staggering back and walking, no, running away. He keeps on running and running until there's a burn in his legs and lungs. When he stops, a hand flaps around until it swings opens a door. Staggers into the room and slams it shut. Its his room but the sight of it doesn't provide any comfort. He was just lucky.

' _He was lucky not Donald Donald always had the bad luck why couldn't he have my_ _luck he would be alive should I have been there I should have been there maybe I could have saved him why wasn't I there'_

Tears come easily to Gladstone and he lets them fall. Sits himself on his bed, grabs a pillow and twists it, sobbing. The ache in his chest is familar, it flared up when both his parents passed away, leaving him an orphan.

When arms wrap around him tightly and a familar red sweater comes into view, he abandons the sweater and instead holds Fethry close because _fuck_ , he's tired of people dying. Tired of the people he loves dying. His parents, old family members who couldn't evade time and death. Now Donald. So he holds Fethry closely and tightly as if he's going to disappear into this air because he knws that one day he will.

And so Gladstone cries and, feeling his shoulder dampen, knows that Fethry is grieving along with him. Knows that atleast Fethry and maybe Gus understand. It makes this less lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Vultuver is the Duck version of Vancouver, I just wanted it to sound more birdlike  
> -Apparently, sunflowers symbolize luck!  
> -According to google, ducks have smallish holes behind their eyes that serve as ears and are covered by feathers. Geese ears are located slightly below the eyes and are also covered by feathers.  
> -Gladstone talking about his cousins friend is a reference to how Mickey wears a wizard hat and can do magic  
> -Gladstone, in my opinion, would not want to tell people about his luck b/c he's afraid of getting hurt. He probably wonders if the person he's sharing a lunch with might stab him in the back. So him being surprised by Olive not prying him about his luck is justified if you think about it.  
> -When a mother duck is sitting on her eggs its called brooding  
> -That bit about Della wanting to get to the swings was me, I would run so fast yall just to get the swings. And if someone got it the same time someone did? You wrestle for that shit man.  
> -Calisota is where Duckburgh is located in the Duck universe  
> -Gus Goose is the farmhand of Grandma Duck so I gave him an accent


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all came.
> 
> From their homes in their respective cars, they flocked together. 
> 
> Downy would have been glad if it hadn’t been for the news they would receive.

Downy was familar with death.

Growing up poor meant that it was difficult to get the medicine for her mother when she caught a bad cough. She died in her sleep in the middle of a crisp January night when Downy was 12. She had awoken to her father's sobbing for her mother to come back and remembered living through a haze, not comprehending that her mother was gone. Sometimes, the pain would hit her out of knowwhere and she would cry, wishing to turn back time.

She was 28 when her father died. Unlike her mother, it had been old age that caused him to die in his sleep like his wife. That same familar daze and pain settled down upon her as Downy cried at the will her father had left her, remembering how she had loved the elegant swirl in his words written in ink. 

But, Fergus helped. He was the one who held her hand throughout the whole funeral, was the one who coaxed her out of bed when the weight of her emotions made her stay in bed far too long, helped her step through the haze that made everything pass by in a painful blur. Downy's father had dissaproved of her marrying Fergus, arguing that he was too poor to support her or her children. Downy had argued too, much more loudly, that she didn't care if Fergus didn't have a cent to his name, all she could see was a faithful man whom she knew would love her. In the end, her father had sat at the wedding, glowering at Fergus and only softening when he danced with his daughter.

She missed them so much that it hurt. Even after all these years.

One day, late at night when neither of them could sleep, she told Fergus about death. About how it was merciless and came after her parents, friends from her childhood, some of Fergus's own blood. Death, she had said, did not discriminate nor did it falter at all. It either ignored time or listened to it but sometimes it feels like death takes and takes and takes. She told Fergus that she knew that death would come for them one day and that she didn't know wether to be afraid or not. Slowly, but surely, Downy cherished every second as if it would be gone in an instant.

Then, Scrooge rebuilt the castle with stones that cursed it's occupants with immortality and trapped them within a fog. It took Downy years later when she realized that immortality was not a blessing, but a curse as she watched the coffin containing her daughter and son-in-law was lowered. They say that only a mother could understand a mother's pain and that day as her eldest passed, Downy understood. 

Anytime spent with family was cherished. Every letter, phone call, reunion, party, visit were like little dewdrops of gold for Downy; a small seed of the fear of the family falling apart had been planted inside of her years ago and maybe that's why she tried so hard. Tried to bring them all together, remember who had children or who just got married. There had been moments when she believed that she was the only one who cared about this sort of stuff until she saw the look of joy on Fethry's face talking to his cousins at a reunion or Elivira's face set in content during dinner. It made her happy.

So recieving a letter of invitaton from her son when the castle decided to reveal itself after all these years was nice, although surprising. Usually, Scrooge would be too busy to come to any event because of buisness or an adventure, something that saddened both her and Matilda. The contents of the letter, however, had alarmed Downy because it had said that everyone had to head over to the manor, immediatley.

"He cuid hae atleast tellt us how come," Fergus grumbled as the chariot lurched forward slightly. ""Th' laddie doesn't blether tae us fur sae lang 'n' then suddenly this! Ae ask ye!"

"Scrooge mist hae a reason, dear," Downy said, setting down the book she was reading. "Frankly, a'm juist happy that he invited us 'n' nae th' ither wey aroond."

Her husband merely crossed his arms. "Bit, _how come,_ Downy?"

"We'll fin' oot soon, love."

They exchanged their chariot for a taxi which drove them all the way to McDuck Manor. There, they were ushered inside by Duckworth. "Mr. McDuck is waiting for you in here," he said in a British accent, indicating the door they stood before. They thanked the canine butler and entered the room.

Scrooge was seated at the front of the long table, his head bowed and hat infront of him. He did not even look up to acknoweldge their presence. "Scroogey?" Downly called out, confused as to why her son was in such a state.

At the sound of his name, the duck's head shot up from. "Mummy?" he said, eyes wide. His gaze shifted from her to Fergus. "Daddy? Whin did ye git 'ere?"

"Juist a few minutes ago," Downy answered, approaching her son. The closer she got, the more she saw what a mess he was. Feathers and glases askew, collar of his coat rumpled. His eyes were what caught her attention; they were red around the irises and the bags under them were more pronounced. Worry set in. "Why, Scrooge! Ye leek lik' ye haven't slept at a'!"

"Huh?" Suddenly, Fergus was by his son's side and blinked at him. "Bless me bagpipes, she's richt! Whit hae ye bin daein', Scrooge?"

Scrooge did not answer at first. Instead, he stood slowly from his chair and stepped torward Downy. With a sudden lurch, he threw his arms around her tightly. Downy froze in surprise, hands raised half way. It had always been her who initiated any forms of comfort and always Scrooge who wanted them to end. There were moments when it was the other way around, but those were rare.

Still, being startled did not stop Downy from smiling and returning the hug. "Oh, tis guid tae see ye, Scroogey. Now, whit's th' occassion? Tis nae ilka day or ilka five years whin ye decide tae invite us ower."

And then Fergus is saying a startled "Scrooge?!" and when she draws back from the hug she sees her son with teary eyes and a quivering beak. The look on his face reminds Downy of his childhood, when a toy was broken or kids decided to play to rough.

Alarmed, Downy holds her son at arms length. "Scrooge, whit's wrong?! Did something happen at wirk?"

"Is it stress, son?" Fergus asked, placing a hand on Scrooge's shoulder. All he got was a slow shake of a head for no. "Laddie, tell us whit's wrong! Ye cannae juist staun thare blubbering at yer problems." Downy found herself nodding along to her husband's words.

Scrooge was squeezing his eyes tightle, tears streaming and taking in sharp breaths. His head was bowed and his shoulders rose with each intake; Downy resisted the urge to grasp them firmly in order to stop their movement. After a moment, Scrooge lifted his head and, with a pained expression, said in a watery voice,"Tis Donald, tis Donald."

"Did ye twa hae a rammy?" Fergus asked, cocking a brow. "If ye did, weel, hopefully tis nae tae serious." When his son placed his head down in his hands, the older duck's expression dropped. "Oh..."

Downy quickly wrapped a shoulder around her son's still shaking shoulders and said in a firm tone,"Scrooge McDuck, if ye dinnae tell us whitevur is th' maiter, then na hulp wull be shored." Deep down, she feared the worst between her Scrooge and great-nephew. A rowdy fight? A misunderstanding? An adventure gone wrong? Something twisted in her stomach, forming a tight not.

Silence. Then, Scrooge jerked away from his parent's hands and looked up at them with a look of desperation in his eye. "It wasn't suppose tae happen! _None o' this!_ See, Della wanted tae gie her bairns th' stars, tae mak' thaim happy. Ae-Ae tried tae hulp, bult` her _that-that damn rocket_ 'n' 'twas meant tae be a surprise! She fun oot aboot it 'n' then Donald fun oot aboot it and-and-" His face crumpled and a shaky hand went out to grip the side of the table. "Ah coudnae keep him safe," Scrooge finished in a gravely tone.

Downy felt the air inside of her vanish. Something was pricking at her eyes, something wet. _'Na, na, na. Oh Lord, please na. Nae Donald, nae Donald.'_ She remembers that little duck, holding him in her arms at the hospital while his mother, Downy's daughter, looked on glowing with happieness. She remembers giving him toys, watching him play with the other children, patching up bruises and scrapes with bandaids and kisses. Remembers reading the letters he occasionally sent to him on that one birthday, Christmas, when he was away in the Navy after college. Remembers telling Hortense _what a fine boy Donald is!_ She had seen her daughter's temper in Donald, had heard his bluntness, taken care of him and his sister so many times when Hortense and Quackmore needed some alone time. 

Neither ducks moved as they stood there, trying to process what they had just heard. It was Fergus who made the first move. Slowly, he made his way over to Scrooge who had bowed his head. He placed both hands on his son's shoulders and drew him into a quick hug. Scrooge stiffened, face shining with surprise as he hesitantly returned the embrace. "Ae-Ae coudnae..." he trailed off.

"Tis aff tae be a'richt, son. Tis aff tae be a'richt," his father said in a soft tone, a hint of gruffness escaping. Now, Scrooge hugged his father tightly and Downy stepped forward to wrap them both in a hug. She can't lend any words but she can do something to show her son that they understand, that she understands whats it like to loose someone who you loved. 

~

They all came.

From their homes in their respective cars, they flocked together. 

Downy would have been glad if it hadn’t been for the news they would receive.

The cousins were sent out- _they are still young, after all, well tell them later, it’ll be fine_ -and although Downy wanted to argue that they deserved to know, she didn’t. She was just tired, so tired of having the people she loved slip out of her fingers, tired of being the shoulder to cry on, tired of knowing that a name would now have to be spoken in a hushed tone. But how can you escape that when it came along with life?

It wasn’t Scrooge who told them, no, it was Fergus. Now Downy had both of her children under her arms, one sobbing her heart out, the other grieving. Her children, who had to fight and work even harder than the others, who lost their little sister, who were both strong-willed and stubborn but loved each other dearly even if they had rows. Downy thinks about how they're growing up fast, too fast, about how one day they may be gone and hugs them even tighter. She wishes for more time, to stop time just to hold her children a little longer and calm down the emotions-is that fear she feels-inside of her. 

She stands by Scrooge's side and watched as everyone struggled to take in the sudden news. Those who were wearing hats place them on the table and someone asks Duckworth to send in tissues. Downy just braces herself for the explosion thats about to happen. It just sits there, trying to catch on fire and you can see little wisps of smoke showing.

Its Angus who launches it, who explodes all by himself. He was the one Donald connected with, who encouraged him to join the Navy and alongside with his father, taught Donald how to fish. He's yelling though, saying that Scrooge and Della were reckless, a hazard, that he always knew this adventuring would kill someone one day. The words are aimed at Scrooge like arrows and her son staggers under them. In another time, in another situation, Scrooge would have defended himself. Downy's heart breaks a little more at this and feels tears pricking at her eyes.

More shouting erupts and she remembers telling everyone the news that Hortense and Quackmore were dead, how a heavy silence fell over them like a blanket and how even whispers were as loud as shouts like these. This is far from it. Its a combination of a deafaning silence and shouts that tear right through. Its something that Downy, although familar with it, wants to run away from.

Eventually, they all calm down and stew in their respective emotions. Matilda is the first one to speak. "Did he hae a wull?" she asks, staring down at clenched fists around a hankerchief.

Fergus starts at the sudden question. "Wha'?"

"A wull." Matilda lifts her head and a glare is forming on her face. "Did Donald hae a wull?"

"Ae-Ae think sae," Scrooge answers when no one does. He looks lost, like he's floating in the sea in a boat all by himself. "Ae will check."

Now the glare was focused on him. "How cuid ye nae ken in th' first place?!"

"Tis nae lik' ah think o' thae hings!" Now he was yelling, standing up straight in his seat and giving his own glare at Matilda.

A scoff. "O' coorse ye wouldn't." Matilda scowled at her brother. "Aye stowed wi' yer buisness, ne'er showing up tae ony parties, aye pushing fowk awa'. 'N' whin ye dae wantae spend time wi' us, ye cherry-pick us! Push asides th' ones ye dinnae wantae blether _tae 'n' keep th' ones ye lik'!"_ Her voice had been climbing steadily as she talked and the end of her sentence rose to a shout.

"Matilda..." Downy began in a warning tone. Inwardly, her stomach tightened because she knew what was going to happen.

"Dinnae ye dare huv a go 'n' excuse his behavior!" Matilda yelled, turning her accusing gaze from her brother to Downy. "Tis th' truth! He ainlie goes tae us whin he needs something! Whin wis th' lest time ye talked tae Fethry or Gladstone or Fanny?!" she shot at Scrooge, who only sat there with an unreadable look on his face. "Tis aye Abner or Eider or-or someone wha ye kin git hulp fae! _ADMIT IT!_ Ye ainlie kept Della 'n' Donald aroond fur thay wur th' ones wha cuid keep up wi' ye. Nae me, nae oor parents, nae Hortense, _AINLE THAIM!_ It wid aye be ye three aff in anither land finding some lost treasure fur ye KIN NE'ER GIT ENOUGH, SCROOGE!"

"MATILDA, THAT IS _ENOUGH!"_ Downy's hand comes down onto the table with a loud _bang_ , silencing her daughter. The shout had been at the back of her throat and had shoved it's way up. With a new found energy going through her, Downy turns to her daughter with a glare of her own. "Noo insae th' time," she hissed, beak clenched. And she was right. Now wasn't the time to voice out words that you had to hold back because you were afraid of what would happen if you say them. Now wasn't the time to throw out hardened truths that hurt. Downy wasn't blind, she noticed how Scrooge would only be with 'his crowd' at parties. Sees the glint in his eyes whenever he heard about a rumor on an abandoned island or a lore. She held her tongue too and just worried in silence, not knowing what to do and wishing her mother was here to offer advice.

Downy holds Matilda's tear filled gave until the younger duck looks down at her crumpled hankerchief. Downy takes a deep breath before lifting her hand from the table. 

"D-Do ya' think we should h-have a funeral?" a small voice piped up. Heads turned to Abner whose eyes were wide at the sudden attention he had attracted. 

"What do you mean, honey?," his mother, Lulubelle, asked softly.

Abner looks slightly relieved at the sound of his mother's voice. "Well, we should have a funeral. I mean, won't people get suspicious at the fact that..." Here, he pauses before going on. "That D-Donald's gone? It just seems wrong not to do it. A-And his friends should know too!" With averted eyes, the stocky duck stood. "I-need some air. Excuse me." With that, he grabbed his hat and hastily left the room.

"He's richt," Fergus says as the door clicks shut behind Abner. "People deserve tae ken whit happened. Someone needs tae send oot some letters. Downy, dear, cuid ye dae that." At her nod, he continues to plan the funeral. Slowly, the others join in on the planning and jobs are being assigned. Downy looks over at Scrooge, maybe to say something, and stops when she sees the look in his eyes. The rest of his face is crestfallen, but his eyes tell a different story. They look steady and determined with grimness in them.

She wants to ask, to pry, but instead holds her tongue and as she does, wonders if it was the right thing.

And then, Gladstone barges in, looking around widely. He sounds frantic as he demands for an explanation and as Fergus explains one again, Downy feels her heart break even more at Gladstone's face, too young to deal with this. He's yelling suddenly, tears sliding down his face and she sees the other kids gather at the doorway of the room. Downy had hoped she could sit them down and explain after the explosion had happened, but they're a part of it, they always have so why try and stop?

Gladstone pushes his way out of the room and then its Fethry's turn to explode, openly sobbing as he whispers to himself. Abner tries to hold him but Fethry staggers back out of the room, probably after Gladstone. He leaves Gus behind who looks horrified.

Downy takes another deep breath and wishes to stop time.

~

She eats dinner with Fergus and Ludwig in an empty dining room that night. There's little small talk but Ludwig does most of it. He talks about what he had been working on, about his home, about the dinner. Downy's grateful for it; Ludwig's voice fills in the silence.

After dinner, she and Fergus head upstairs to turn in for bed. They're changing and Downy thinks about the look she saw in Scrooge's face and eyes earlier. "Ah think ah will gang 'n' check oan Scrooge," she softly announces, making her way over to the door. Hearing footsteps, she looks back to see her husband right behind her. With a nod, they both make their way through the semi-dark halls.

She's passing a door and pauses upon hearing a familar voice. Looking through the crack, Downy sees Della, Fethry, and Gladstone with their backs to her. A plate is sitting on the dresser besides the bed. Downy feels guilt pool into her and it grows when she catches a glimpse of three eggs in a stroller, a heating lamp above them to warm them. 

"Downy?" Fergus asks as she pulls back and walks away without acknowledging him. How could she have forgotten about Della, her eggs, what she was feeling? _How? How could you?_

A hand, rough, finds its way into hers and Downy clutches onto it as they continue their journey. 

They find Scrooge in his room, still in his clothes, staring at nothing. When he sees his parents, he seems to break and Downy sees the young boy back in the Glasgow, who came home teary-eyed after the other kids had played too rough and needed a hug from his mother. And right now, he needed one.

Downy sits next to him and holds her son as Fergus rubs his back, sushing him every once in a while. There's little she can do when time and death are more of an enemy than a friend to her so she tries. And tomorrow she'll try and then the next day and the next and the next and the next...

Maybe, just maybe, they'll get through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @the Ducktales fandom where the FUCK are my Fergus and Hortense storis of them being domestic and cute
> 
> -According to the Ducktales wiki page, Downy's maiden name was O'Drake. She's also known as McMama  
> -Scrooge's parents make an appearance in Mystery at Castle McDuck  
> -According to the duck family tree, Fergus has two brothers, James and Angus 'Pothole' McDuck. James looks really fluffy and Angus is dressed in a captain outfit with a pipe. Whats funny is that Donald's picture is above Angus's, probably bc they were both sailors at one point of their lives.  
> -Hortense is the youngest sister of Matilda and Scrooge. Matilda is also the youngest  
> -Fanny Coot is Gus's mother  
> -I just wanted to write about Downy ok dont judge me
> 
> Ok enough of people reacting, time for some action. Please tell me if I did good with this chapter because I feel like I rushed it.  
> See ya in the next one, scouts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All around her were faces fresh with grief. Some would stay like that, haunted by the death of one of their own. Others will move on, familar with this process of recieving and doing. But, would Della move on? It felt as if a piece of her had been wripped from her violently and without warning, tossed into a place she could not reach. Would she move on?

Della wakes up to one side of her bed warm and the other side cold. She strecthes her arm out-the ones that's not trapped under something-and finds the blankets on the other side bundled up. Opening her eyes up a little more, her vision is filled with red. Last nights events come back to her and she sighs.

' _Right. Gladstone came in with food, Fethry came in too and he was crying a lot. We just sat there and watched the eggs, then went to bed. But, he's still mad at me, Glady...'_

Did she even have the right to call her cousin that? After what she did, did she have the right?

Slowly and every so carefully, Della drew her arm from under her cousin. The motion caused Fethry to roll over in his sleep, wraping the blankets even more around himself. There were still dried tearmarks on his face and Della felt a hollow feeling in her chest. Fethry had been hysterical when he had come into her room, gasping for air. That had scared her; when she had told him for the first time Fethry had simple sat there with a blank look on his face. It was like the calm before the storm, a glass cup that was about to break from bring overflowed with water. And it had been Fethry, who loved too much and got invested too deeply, who wanted the best and tried so hard. 

Della craned her head over to the clock beside her bed on Fethry's side of the bed. It read 7:56 AM. She turned her head to the other side and saw her eggs still sitting under the heat lamp. The doctor said that whenever she needed a break from brooding, the lamp had to be turned on at 99.5 **°** F. Rubbing the crust from her eyes, Della slowly rose from the warmth of her bed and made her way over to the stroller, shivering slightly at the coldness of the wooden floors. Gingerly, she turned each egg over. ' _That's one.'_

Running a hand through her hair, she cringed slightly at the greasy feeling of it. Della grabbed a few clothes at random and quickly made her way to the shower, careful not to wake up the still slumbering Fethry.

The water came out shockingly cold and a yelp escapes her. A quick twist of the knob and it turns from frigid to lukewarm. She scrubbed herself down and washes her hair. Then, Della stands there and lets the water cascade down on her. If she closes her eyes, it almost seems peaceful if it weren't for the emotions inside of her feeling so heavy that she's certain they're weighing her down.

_'If I had been smarter, if I had only just stopped and think, would Donald still be here? Of course he would, he wouldn't have to climb up to me or try and fly that rocket. Why did I even think about going to space. I'm an idiot, a fucking idiot. Its because of Donald I'm still alive...'_

Della remembers, as kids, Donald would be the one to catch her after trying to climb the oak tree. Or would be the one with the bandages after a tough adventure. Always watchful, always a step back from her. She had find it frustrating anytime Donald turned down a chance to take a leap or a plunge. _Where's you spirit, Don?_ Della would ask him everytime. Never did she understand why there would be people who would rather take the backseat rather than drive forward until now.

' _He was always looking after me. Always had my back. Did I have his back? Was I a good sister?'_

Della could still see him, looking up at her with a furious expression but yelling at her in a desperate tone. _HOW CAN YOU DO THIS?!,_ he had yelled at her. _COME DOWN!_ , he had begged. Why had she continued to climb?

The water, she bleakly noticed, had gone cold again. And yet the prospect of getting out exhausted her. Della didn't want to face the others, see the tear stained faces and piercing eyes, judging her, silent _I told you so_ 's floating around in the air. She was tired of bearing the news to so many people, sick of watching others break down. All she wants is to stay here, let warm water flow down on her as the world goes on. 

_HOW CAN YOU DO THIS?!,_ Donald had asked her. ' _How could I?'_

With a difficulty that Della was unaware was present, she reached over and shut off the water; even after the flow had slowed down to a trickle before disappearing, she stood there. Her movements are slow as she finally exists to dry off and get ready for the day. When she exists the bathroom, Fethry is sitting up in his bed with Donald's blue hat in his hands and why does Della want to smack it out of his hands, want to take it away from him?

Fethry has his head bowed and a finger carasseing the black tail of that hat. "He-He always wore this. With everything," he mumbled. "Except when we would go swimming..." A sniffle escaped him before he stood, dropping the hat onto the bed and stumbling slightly to the bathroom.

"Fethry-" What could she say? How could she phrase the mess in her head into words. Della doesn't because her cousin just shoots her a look that she can't read and shuts her beak, watches as he exisited the room. It when she's holding the hat that she realizes that the look Fethry sent her was one of anguish. Biting at her beak, Della flopped back onto the pillows and pulled the covers over her head. There she lay like that, curled up, losing track of time. 

~

When Della finally feels like she's alive (partially), she heads over to the eggs. Turns off the lamp and pushes the stroller out the door and to the nursery. The doctor said that she needed to sit on her eggs for a good eight hours, enough that is healthy for the eggs and the mind of the mother. If she wants a break she can leave the eggs with the heat lamp. But, brooding takes a patience Della never knew was in her. A book or two is there to help her cure her boredom. Sometimes, she'll talk to the eggs, tell them stories about her past adventures or childhood. Or she'll talk about the future, about the house they'll live in and school and the trips across the world they'll have. When he's not busy, Donald would-

Della stops short in the middle of the hallway and gasps at the aching feeling in her chest. Her grip on the handles is suddenly tight. ' _He would bring a chessboard up.'_ They would use one of Scrooge's old pocketwatches as a timer and Donald would teach her all he knew. All the secrets, the hints, they way you can tell your opponent is slipping up, how to stop yourself from making a mistake. When she asked her who taught him, he simply said one of his friends. _And I picked up a few things myself!_

Della swallowed, feeling her throat tighten and pushed the stroller.

She's just about to round a corner to the nursery when a familar voice calls out her name. 

"Della!" Matilda McDuck was striding torwards her, dressed in a light grey dress, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and arms outstretched. "Della, sweetie, thare yer are!" The older duck suddenly had her niece in a tight embrace.

"A-Aunt Matilda." Della slowly returned the hug, slightly confused. "What are you doing here?"

Matilda pulls back. "Scrooge cried th' hail fowk 'ere! Ae cam 'ere yesterday 'n' some are still comin'. Grandma, yer Uncle Coot, yer Aunt fanny, yer Uncle Goose." She paused and her eyes looked sad. "We heard aboot whit happened tae Donald."

Suddenly feeling defensive, Della stepped out of the older woman's arms. "Leave me alone, Aunt Matilda. Please."

"Ae wull not," said woman shot back, beak set suddenly. "Ae cam 'ere tae check up oan ye 'n' check up oan ye, Ae shall. Is this whaur ye wur heading?," Matilda asked, indicating the door that lead to the nursery. Della watched as she opened the door, feeling glum all of a sudden. Sighing, she followed after her aunt.

Inside the room, Della parked the stroller by the rocking chair and headed over to the closet. When she was pregant with the triplets, she had headed outside and collected as many sticks, leaves, and branches for a nest big enough for three. Della had assembled it in her room and brought it with her to the hospital where, after the eggs had been laid, had been placed into the nest with care. Now, Della used it for brooding.

Matilda had seated herself onto the rocking chair besides the eggs, and the sight of her still in the room made Della feel hot anger rise up. "Can you please leave?" She had meant for it to be said in a gentle way, but it came out snappish.

Her aunt gives her a look-Della can't think of any word but _soft_ -and says,"Las, whin wis th' lest time ye ate? Or slept?"

"I don't know. Look, just-"

"'ere, let me hulp ye wi-" She's standing up and walking over to her and Della-

" _NO!_ " The shout, no scream, erupts from her and she jerks away. "JUST _GO!_ "

There's a ringing silence as both woman stand there. Matilda is watching her with wide eyes as Della pants, cheeks flushed from the sudden frustration and scream that had just erupted from her. Instantly, shame hits her. 

"I-" she says, bowing her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout, its just that-"

"Tis a'richt, las." Matilda's face adopted a sweet smile. It doesn't help with the shame. "Tis a'richt. How's this? Ae git ye some breakfast while ye git comfy. Hm?" All Della can do is nod. "A'richt, ah will be richt back." 

Della watches her go and closes her eyes at the click of the door. "Shit," she breathed out. Shaking her head, she pulled out a cushion and tucked it under the nest. Gingerly lifting her eggs from the stroller, Della deposited them eggs into the nest. Then, she settled down and shifted to get comfortable.

When she had first heard of brooding, Della began to admire the parents she met in her life. To spend that much time waiting for the eggs to be laid and then wait for the babies to hatch required patience that Della was sure she could never possess. She had wondered, stroking a belly swollen with three little miracles, if she had what it takes to raise her children. Wondered if her mother thought this when she was pregnant. If she had been scared and excited and happy, all those emotions bundled into a ball that was rolling inside of her.

Della closes her eyes and she sees Donald, looking up at her. Sees him making his way over to her in the pilot seat. Hears him yelling. begging her to come back down. Sees his hand curled up in a fist, knuckles red and _oh God he was hurt and now he's gone itsallmyfault-_

The tears come up before she can process it and Della gasps for air.

"What am I going to do?" she asks the empty room (or is she asking her eggs? She isn't sure).

~

They plan Donald's funeral. They being her granparents, Grandma Elvira, and Aunt Matilda.

Della stayed either in her room or the nursery. Rarely went outside unless it was for a bathroom break or food. Brooding took up most of her time. Besides, she didn't want to walk around the mansion anymore. There was an air in the building that made everyone tread carefully, speak in hushed tones. She was worried that whatever she might say, whatever she might do may tear the silence into shreds; Della couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She spends her time taking care of the eggs. Brooding, turning them, playing music for them. But, when she's certain everyone in the house is asleep, slips into the old room she and Donald would stay in when they came her as children and lie down on her brother's side. Remembers staying up late at night, recalls pillow fights, remembers puppet shadows morphing into horror stories told by flashlight which turned into ramblings and exchanging last minute homework answers at 3 AM. Recalls Fethry and Gladstone sneaking in and all of them crowding arond the tiny TV they had as they watched the latest shows while dining on cookies. She noticed the pieces of tape on the walls where Donald hung his posters and leaves the room with itchy eyes every time.

Gus and Abner hang out with her. Gus gets her to eat and Abner fills her in on whats happening. They're patient although Abner keeps pushing her to go out and spend time with family. "I know ya' need to take care of the eggs, Del'," he said. "But, not talking to everyone 'cept Gus, Aunt Matilda, and I isn't healthy. Please, just come have dinner with us."

She couldn't. Della threw excuse after excuse at Abner who grew frustrated but didn't let it get the better of him, bless him. She couldn't because anytime she left a room that didn't have her eggs in it, scenario after scenario played in her mind, none pleasant. _What if_ 's about her children made her cut corners on her breaks because she almost lost them, her treasures, her miracles. Della failed them once, maybe too many times unknowingly, and she was determined not to do it again.

Grandma Downy came up to her one day and tentatively explained that she and Uncle Angus need her help to send out invites for Donald's funeral. "If ye cuid hulp me, dear, that wid be crakin'. If ye cannae thats fine," she had said, a hand on her shoulder. Della had stared at the hand and agreed to help. Slowly, the two of them compiled a list of the people Donald knew. She helps sends out the invites and when the last one is delivered, prepares herself.

Gus fills her in on the new voices in the building. Mickey and Minnie are the first ones to arrive, looking winded. Minnie seems to be the most civil while Mickey pleades just with others that _It's not true, tell me it's not true, he_ can't _be gone_. There's distraught and anguish in their faces, and all the family can offer is a guest room where they mourn in their own way as they wait for the funeral day to arrive. Goofy follows shortly after and comes alone. "My wife's pregnant," he explains to Grandpa Fergus. "She's staying with her mother." He gets a room right next to Mickey and Minnie's who greet him with tight hugs. Then, Goofy finds Della and hugs her tightly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, blinking rapidly. "Donald was always a tough guy, real stubborn. Now, he's-" He cuts himself off to blow his nose on a hankerchief, a honking noise that would have made Della laugh if it had been under different circumstances. Suddenly, Mickey is there and is leading Goofy away. 

Daisy arrives with a desperate look on her face and her hair a mess. Della is in the kitchen, trying to eat, when she sees her come by. Takes her to another room and they both cry. "I can't believe it," Daisy gasps, twisting her tissue to shreds. "I can't-" A sob escapes her and Della pulls her close. Later, she sees her with Gladstone.

Della catches glimpses of Gladstone, walking down the halls or in the kitchen when she swings by to grab herself a snack. His face is sober and is almost always with Fethry, who regards everyhting with tired eyes. They haven't talked since the morning after they arrived and she missed them, missed their presence. But, there are no words that might coax them to spend some time with her, and even if Della did find it she was certain they would decline. Sometimes, Gladstone's words still come back to her, still remind her and she goes back to her eggs.

More people begin to arrive. Panchito and José arrive two days before the funeral. She runs into them in the hallways and has to step back because the look on Panchito's face scares her. It is set with anger and his eyes stare accusingly at her. He looks like he's about to scream when José drags him away, hissing at him to calm down. Della can't help but wonder if José is trying to stay under control too.

People whom Della has never seen show up. A handul of Donald's friends when he was a Naval officer, who greet everyone respectfully and with a pinch of solemn in there. A tiny red bird in a white shirt comes chittering his way into the manor until he literally runs into Panchito. Della sees him and José with the smaller bird in Donald's room once, the green parrot with his face buried in Panchito's chest. She had froze up, watching the rooster whisper to the shorter bird and place kiss on the top of his head, his cheeks as the small red one rubs the parrot's back. They whisper to eachother in their own language and she turns around, feeling like an intruder.

There's one person that Della has not seen for so long. "Scrooge is helping Daddy wi' th' funeral," Aunt Matilda explained to her, Gus, and Abner over lunch. For some reason, this makes Della almost chuckle because just a few days ago the old duck was talking about sending out people to look for Donald, believing that he was still out there. She pays little thought to Scrooge, doesn't let him in her mind. Mostly because of what he did, but its because the thought seems exhausting. So much has seem exhausting, getting out of bed, eating, talking. 

~

Aunt Matilda insists on Ms. Beakly to watch the eggs so that Della can attend. She pushed down the voice screaming at her that Beakly looks hard, not a soft edge to her, and gives her instructions on how to take care of the eggs. The taller woman listens attentively, asks the right questions, and when Della leaves the room she's watching the eggs with a sharp eye. 

Dressed in a black dress, Della lets her aunt guide her to breakfast. Its a quiet affair, punctured only with the scrapes of silverware agaisnt plate and the sound of munching. Matilda breaks it mid-way as she shoots up from her seat besides, the chair screeching against the floor. She shudders in a gasp and leaves, a napkin pressed against her face, and both Gladstone and Ludwig follow her with worried expressions. They don't see her until they all troop into the cars waiting for them and she comes out with red eyes; someone passes her a bottle of water when she hiccups.

Della looks around as her family walks to the cars. Gladstone and Gus have abandoned their hats and walk with slumped shoulders; Gus keeps on wiping his beak with a tissue. Uncle Angus shuffles his way to the car, beak turned down into a sad frown. The lines in Uncle Ludwig's face seem to be more drawn in, with a face that is set in a frown. Aunt Fanny and Uncle Goose and Coot talk quietly amongst themselves and Coot's head is bowed. Grandma Elvira surveys everyone at the top of the steps, a veil obscuring her face and a hankerchief at ready in her hand. Grandpa Fergus and Grandma Downy appear on either side of her, exchange a few words, and lead her to one of the cars which leaves Della off-kilter because Grandma has always been strong, never the first one to shed a tear.

Della twists her head and sees Abner with an arm around Fethry. He's discarded his usual hat and so has Fethry, who looks at the ground as the brothers walk, hands curled up at his chest. Della watches them pass by numbly and her hands tighten around the blue sailor hat. She watches as Aunt Lullubelle and Uncle Eider hurry over to Fergus. Eider has a phone in his hand and seems to be talking to someone while Lulubelle and Fergus exchange a few words. Its startling to see the two dressed in black instead of their usual light colors they wore back at home, concerning to see one of their sons unresponisve to the world save his older brother and cousin. 

Della turns her head and sees Scrooge on the top of the stairs, the last one to arrive. He's traded his usual red coat for a black suit and his tophat is gone. For once, Scrooge looks like his age as he slowly makes his way down the stairs, watched by Duckworth from the doorway. She hasn't seen him since that day in the nursery, two days after the rocket was launched. Upon closer look, Della can see the bags under his eyes which look bloodshot, his feathers sticking out even more. He looks pitiful and she turns away, swallowing down at the confusing emotions in her and climbing into one of the cars. 

Della blinks and suddenly the others are getting out of the car. The funeral home stands before them and Della hastingly gets out of the car herself. She jumps when a hand is placed on her arm and looks around to see Grandma standing beside her. Through the veil, she can see eyes staring at her with a silent question. _Are you alright?_

Della reaches over and places a hand on Grandma's. Forces the corner of her beaks to turn upwards. _Yes, I'm good._ She turns and steps torward the funeral home.

She's been to one funeral, her parent's. Had been young- _too young_ , the adults had whispered when they thought she couldn't hear them-and still hadn't understood why she and her brother were there. When it had hit her that her parents would never come back, had cried along with Donald in the dead of night. It would be years until the two would talk about their mother and father when they all were happy, when they all were a family. 

Donald's casket is a deep mahogany with pots of marigolds flanking it. A picture of him in his uniform stands there. Della remembers taking it after he got back and making a comment about how others would think how handsome he looked in his uniform. _And by others, I mean Daisy._ He had flushed and shoved her away, almost making her drop the camera.

"Whenever we ate lunch with the others, they would say that the only thing we had in common was our temper." Della jumped and turned to see a tall, grey bird standing beside her, dressed in the black suit that was the Navy's uniform. She stands with her hands clasped around her back, staring at Donald's picture. "That, and our stubbornness." The woman turns her head to the shorter duck before her and Della can see the resolve in her eyes below the white cap she wore. "Lillith Grebe," she said, holding out a hand. "I'm-sorry for you loss."

Della nodded and shook her hand at the same time, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her. She could feel the callous of Lillith's hand through the gloves, knew that the woman before her served with her whole being in a way. A small memory pokes her way to her mind. "He wrote about you," she finally says, voice slightly raspy from little use. "In his letters. And the others."

Lillith nodded. "Donald-was a fine sergant. Although he was slightly creative when it came to guard post duty." The corners of her bill twitched slightly. 

"Donal' never told us about his days as a sailor." Both women turn around to see José standing there. Its strange to see the colorful parrot in such dark clothing. He has his arms crossed and is giving Hernae a judging look.

"Were you his friend?" Lillith asks politely. 

"You could say this," José responded in a blunt manner. Della quickly turned away from the two, suspecting that this was a conversation that wasn't for her.

Time passes in a blur that Della doesn't bother to remember and really why does it matter? ' _He's dead. He's dead and nothing can bring him back.'_ She isn't Scrooge, who will probably turn to magical creatures or make sacrifices to forgotten deities in order to bring back Donald as soon as everyone has cleared out. Nor is she like Grandma, who accepts facts and speak words that are half wisdom, half nonsense. She's Della Duck, the woman whose too rambunctious, stubborn and always looking forward, who just created a little soon-to-be family, who lost her parents and now her brother. In other people's eyes, she can do anything from leaping off high cliffs in order to dive into the water below to finding the holes to slip through a tight situation. Della knew this, but she also knew that she could never follow the rules, never wait too long, never sit back in her seat and would always sit on the edge. Why did it take her so long to realize that that could kill her one day?

She wants to scream, to rage and turn the world upside down on its axis, but she also wants to sit back in her seat. So she does. Watches it all with a numb feeling that's slowly spreading.

People begin to come up to speak. First, its Mickey. He talks about knowing Donald all his life, about the time they spent together, the troubles they somehow got in. Recalls a story of how him and Donald had to stop a tractor that Goofy lost control of. He tells them about admiring Donald. "He was always the guy that got back up again, no matter how many punches were thrown at him. Donald was always ready for whatever the world threw at him. I've never meet someone like him and I'm positive I never will." Mickey paused and looked down. "I-I'm goona' miss my him. So much. Donald wasn't just a friend to me, he was more of a brother. One with a temper I''ve never seen." He laughed, a watery one, before excusing himself.

Goofy came up, recalling memorable moments he, Donald, and Mickey had. Odd jobs the three signed up for, trips that took that turned into small adventures of their own, laughter they shared, mishaps that occured. "It was never a dull moment. Ah-hyuack!," he said, smiling fondly.

Minnie came up, talking about how Donald would often help her in the kitchen where they swapped cookig tips, the parties they went to, and how happy he made Daisy. "I won't lie, though. I would often have to be their therapist sometimes. But, I never regret not knowing Donald."

When Daisy came up, she already had tears in her eyes. Her voice wobbles slightly as she talked about how she and Donald met when she moved to Duckburgh. "He came over to my house for a date when we were in high school. I had the door open and he suddenly ran in, yelling like crazy!" Daisy laughed, blinking rapidly. "We sat on the couch and talked, and I think I thought that I would never see him again. But, then I did again and again, and...I fell in love. I fell in love with someone I will never forget."

' _We were shooting Donald with water guns. He ran into someone's house and we spooked him. Shot at his feet with water.'_

Panchito comes up and at first he seems to be unable to speak. Then, he talks about meeting for the first time, then later José. How the three of them made life feel more lively. The music they played, the foods they tasted, the places they traveled, the joy shared between them-all were memories that seemed only for them. Panchito talks in a halting tone and you can see the tears in his eyes as he blinks away rapidly. As he nears to the end, the rooster manages a small grin. "Believe it or not, but Donal' was a true _caballero._ Birds of a feather and bright as a peso." As he heads back to his seat, he presses a hankerchief to his eyes.

More people talk. Unce Angus about what a fine boy Quackmore and Hortense had. The people from the Navy utter a small word about the Donald's service. Grandma Elvira goes up and speaks solemn words. 

Then, they're standing up and Della follows them, feeling as if she is not there right now. The people from the Navy are lifting the coffin and are slowly making their way out of the building. Della is aware of a hand gripping hers tightly and leading her with them and she allows this. Dully, she noted words in the air but can't hear it. Its almost as if there's water in her ears, mufflig the noise of the world.

Seeing the coffin being lowered into the ground-the lines of the hole are clean, straight, _too perfect_ -brings her back to earth and she feels something bubbling up inside of her. It leaves her as a wretched sound, borderlining onto agonizing, and Della's knees buckle. The hand that was gripping her hand grows tighter. The hand around the blue hat is white-knuckle tight.

Sobs are leaving her and she can't take her eyes off of the scene infront of her, deep-brown dirt blending in with the wood of the coffin. More and more are piled onto it and Della wants to shout out _wait, not now, please._ But all she can do is cry and the unbidden feeling of unusefullness wells up inside of her. 

All too soon, the shovel is patting the dirt in place. Della's eyes find the headstone. Its a blinding white, makes it easy to see read the words. Will probably still be able to read even after years and years _without Donald, no more Don, God, take me not him, not Don-_

One of the Navy officers is infront of her, holding out something to her. Its blue, white, and red and Della takes it numbly, not really feeling it in her hands. The man infront of her says something about thanking Donald for his services and salutes, puting his whole body into it.

' _What does it matter? It changes nothing.'_

~

The sense of feeling alone came to Della. That was good. No one to reassure, no one to watch her, no one to try and coax her into anything. It almost felt nice to stare at the grave. Almost.

Numbness had dropped into her and spread, flowing from it's spot to touch the tips of her fingers and toes, the ends of her hair. It was as if her body was trying to dislodge herself from this world into another one, one where the grey haze was everywhere and time did not exist. Or was this her world already? It felt like it...

Her eyes caught the words engraved in stone. **DONALD FAUNTLEROY DUCK**. He had always been embarrased by his name, disliked the oldness to it that would have been common in another time. **MEDAL OF HONOR, U.S. NAVY.** Donald had announced that he wanted to enlist during dinner and Della was slightly surprised, but it was gone in an istant. Her brother always seemed at ease in the water, easilly taking control of the ship and reading the stars like an open book. When he came back from the Navy, there was more steel in his bones and his actions seemed more bold. Della tried to copy him-they way he untied a rope, the castious way he steered the wheel, the patience he had-but it ended with her tripping or making a small mistake that came back to bite them in the ass later. So, she settled for the sky.

Her eyes read the next words. **JUNE 9, 1980-APRIL 10, 2006.** Their birthday was a favorite; two cakes instea of one, twice the amount of presents so that they both could have enough, everyone nice to them. As they grew older, they rationed to one cake and both found out how easy it was to smash the pastry into one anothers faces. Donald had done it first when they were 17 and it had become a tradition. 

Finally, the last line. **ALWAYS REMEMBERED, ALWAYS CHERISHED, ALWAYS LOVED.** Yes, that seemed right. Della would never forget Donald, with a fiery temper and a quick mind and a determined gaze. She would always remember their childhod, the hard work they did at the farm, the school days that varied from dull to unpredictable, the arguements and make-ups, the adventures they had. Always love her brother. She'll tell others about him, about the bravest and strongest duck she knew. 

Daisy's hand is gentle on hers as they ease off of the flag she's holding. Della's grip was white-knuckle tight, but Daisy was patient, massaging the fingers until she let go. Then, with a shoulder around her, led her away from the grave. Others have already moved away and were milling about in groups, chatting quietly in hushed tones. The sight of it made Della almost start screaming because _why the Hell did it all look so natural, so at ease? What the Hell?_

She turned her head and caught sight of Daisy wiping at her eyes, a tremble in her hands. Della twisted her head and saw Mickey with drooping ears and downcast eyes, a look that seemed disorienting. Goofy was beside him and looked twice his age, a hankerchief at ready in his hands. Minnie had her face pressed into a tissue as Gus patted her shaking shoulders. Panchito and José were nowhere to be found. 

All around her were faces fresh with grief. Some would stay like that, haunted by the death of one of their own. Others will move on, familar with this process of recieving and doing. But, would Della move on? It felt as if a piece of her had been wripped from her violently and without warning, tossed into a place she could not reach. Would she move on? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bobs my head to Caro Emerald while writitng this' Hey, maybe the Liquidator would like Caro Emerald!
> 
> -Everyone: Wow, you wrote Fethry to be so stable in this! Me: nah fam he's processing and then he's gonna react. Lmao, here have a hysterically sobbing Fethry who just realized that his older cousin whom he idoloized and loved is gone.  
> -When it comes to incubators and duck eggs, the temperature has to be 37.5 degrees C(99.5 degrees F). The humidity has to be 55% (84.5 degrees F on the wet bulb thermometer). They also have to be turned around 4 times a day. I chose a heating lamp instead of an incubator because it seemed to fit.  
> -I went on the Disney fandom powered website to look up some of Donald's friends and discovered this: in a video game called Maui Mallard in Cold Shadow, there's a girl named Hernae whose occupation is Donald's lover. Another one joins the Harem Au! The wizard guy from where Mickey gets his hat is listed as an ally. I was gonna add Clarabella and Horace but decided against it.  
> -Just imagine Ari breaking the fourht wall and finding out Donald's missing so he goes to Duckburgh  
> -Fanny Coot and Luke Goose are married and the parents of Gus.  
> -Micky and Donald stoppping Goofy's tractor is an actual episode from Micky Mouse Clubhouse  
> -Daisy's first appearnce was in Mr. Duck Steps Out. In the story, she comes over for a date and Huey, Dewe, and Louie cause Donald to dance which impresses Daisy. I changed it up for this stories sake.  
> -Lillith Grebe is just someone I made up. Imagine a Naval officer who has steely resolve, but cares deeply and is short-tempered  
> -Huey, Dewe, and Louie were born on April 15. In a Disney comic by Don Rosa, the three were born in 1940 in Duckburgh. But, in the episode Secret(s) of Castle McDuck, its said that they were born somewhere in the 200s. I changed it to 2006 because its said that the Triplets were 11 when they joined the Woodchucks. Do the math and the events of Ducktales are in 2017!
> 
> Hope you guys liked this one. See ya in the next chapter, scouts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one talks about the aftermath of hatching. The crying that rouses you in the dead of night, the food that must be meticously fed to three stubborn ducks, the toys that you must watch them play with so that they don't turn around and hit eachother with, the time that is devoted into raising them. Della throws herself at this. They still scare her, either being too close to a sharp object or coughing once. They keep her on her toes and even when they're napping Della drags a chair over and watches them, making sure they don't get hurt. A story of a baby choking on a blanket in her crib is branded in her mind after scrolling through Quora at 3 AM.

Sleep had been about to catch her in it's soft grasp and carry her off, but it was as startled as she was when the first crack filled the air. Della shot up from the chair she's sleeping in, twisting around to find the only light in the room from the heat lamp. Even from her bed, she could see the break in the smooth surface of one of the eggs.

"Oh, my God," Della whispered, eyes wide. She felt more alert than ever. It took the second crack for her to scramble for the nest.

When she finally found it and headed over to the eggs, she saw that more cracks at the top of the egg in the center. Della was suddenly aware of her fingers shaking as something akin to excitement and fear coursed through her veins.

A beak, the tiniest thing she's even seen, shoots up, causing her to jump. It disappears for a split second and comes back again, this time with enough force to cause a piece of egg to fly off. Three more pecks and Della can see pale yellow feathers. Then, suddenly, a head pops out. 

Della lets out something that's a cross of a gasp and a laugh. Her baby's head is as small as a tennis ball, covered in feathers as yellow as butter. Wide blue eyes open and meet hers- _the same shade_ -and Della has never felt more joy in her life.

She reaches out and carefully picks up the duckling. "Hubert," she says, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "Hello, Hubert. Hi, baby." The newly named duckling blinked once, twice at her with a piece of egg still on his head. Della is just drawing him near to her chest and brushing the shell off when the noise of cracking fills the air again.

She turns her attention to the egg on the left, which is swaying slightly from side to side. Suddenly, a head pops out, bits of shell flying everywhere. Della grins down at her second duckling, who is peeping out at her, at the egg next to her, at everything. "Dewford," Della tells him after setting little Hubert into the nest to hold her second son. "Dewford Deuteronomy Duck. Aren't you excited." She laughs when he wrinkles his beak slightly at her before placing a quick kiss on top of his wet head. Soon, he's laid down next to his brother and they strike up a conversation, little peeps emitting from them.

Their brother doesn't hatch right away like Dewford. Della waits and waits, trying to control the panic growing inside of her. She's already flipped through the books she owns and is about to call the hospital when fissues begin to form. Della cries when he finally breaks free, slowly crawling out of his egg. "Don't scare me like that, Llewelyn," she mutters to him, holding her baby close to her chest. Relief sooths down the panic in her and Della closes her eyes, savoring the feeling of her son close to her.

Hubert and Dewfordy take notice of their younger brother and immediatley include him into their conversation. Hubert props his head on top of Llewelyn's while Dewford leans against them. Della feels a warmth spreading through her as she carefully picks up her three sons, holding them close to her. They were here, right in front of her, breathing breathe after breathe. 

"I love you," she whispers to them as tears slide down on her face. "I love you so much and I promise that I will always be there for you guys. No matter what."

~

They grow up in an apartment. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small kitchen and living room. Two closets. Della buys it two days after they've hatched and convinces Gus to help her move in. She leaves the manor with three eggs, all of her belongings, and her own grief.

No one talks about the aftermath of hatching. The crying that rouses you in the dead of night, the food that must be meticously fed to three stubborn ducks, the toys that you must watch them play with so that they don't turn around and hit eachother with, the time that is devoted into raising them. Della throws herself at this. They still scare her, either being too close to a sharp object or coughing once. They keep her on her toes and even when they're napping Della drags a chair over and watches them, making sure they don't get hurt. A story of a baby choking on a blanket in her crib is branded in her mind after scrolling through Quora at 3 AM.

She signs up for the first job where she knows is enough to feed a family of four-a mechanic at some car place when the boys are 4, a waitress, a desk job. Takes enough shifts to earn enough but not enough that keeps her away from her sons. Her neighbor from next door agrees to watch over the boys for no price and Della repays him by sharing donuts with him. When the boys are at school, Della takes more shifts, determined to get enough money when the holdiays and the bills roll around. It comes with a price when she comes home later than usual and regret settles in her chest when she sees that Derek from next door is making dinner for her sons even though she promised that tonight she would do it. 

No one tells her about her patience and its because she has little. There are times when one person shouting turns into two or when Della snapped at one of the boys. Sometimes, a situation gets out of hand and they're all left with tension at the end of the day. But, Della knows she's improving when she can answer the endless stream of questions from Dewey or help Louie overcome his fear of heights. Makes her feel like she's enough.

She makes sure to ask Huey about how class went, Dewey about any new friends he made, Louie about any news she missed. Manages to go to every parent teacher conference meeting, every school concert with a camera in hand, every game for any sport one of the boys decided to play. There are times when Della thinks she can't make it and surprises her boys and even herself when she does. Fate is a myserious thing and its especially mysterious to Della; one moment she's looking at the sign-up sheet and thinking she can't make it to a meeting about a field trip and the next she's asking about where they are going in a classroom with other parents. 

The boys tell her everything and she doesn't. Doesn't talk about how she can't help but feel anxious when the bills comes. Doesn't mention that work can be strenuous and that whenever she comes home all she wants is to sleep forever. Doesn't talk about how work and helping Dewey with his homework affects her sleep. Doesn't talk about taking two jobs when its April or December or October or any other month with a holiday in it. Doesn't talk about how jobs could vary from an office to a factory. Doesn't talk about how when she's alone lets her mask slip and even Della can feel herself vunerable and scared. Doesn't talk about how when they were babies and were asleep, she would lock herself in the bathroom and weep for her brother, feeling empty and aching as she thought of the _what-ifs_. Doesn't talk about calling her brother's number in the dead of night before eventually deleting it, feeling stuck. Doesn't talk that the reason she leaves that one Friday is to sell all her stuff from her old adventure days. They have memories-painful ones-and they were taking up too much space anyway. The diving suit, swords, winter coats worn in Antartica, books from ancient libraries are all sold and Della goes to bed feeling reassured. Every check is cashed and she gets a safe to keep the jars of money in.

But, she does talk to them about her past. Tells them riveting stories of her old adventures from the Vikings to the islands where ancient artifacts lay waiting to be discovered. She even brings out one of her many journals where she jotted down little facts about all the places they've been to. Louie catches her one day with a tank top on and is alarmed at the long scar on her arm which leads to a wild story of how she battled against a pirate with her brother, Donald.

Donald. He's in almost every story she tells her sons. Huey asks question after question about his temper which saved Della countless of times. Dewey cares only about the parts when his uncle fought off their foes single-handedly with his bare fists. Louie wonders about what his childhood was like. And Della? Della doesn't hold back on the information because they deserve to know. She not only tells them about adventures, but about childhood and his school days. At first, she had declined, threw some excuses because it hurts. But, what justice would that do for her brother who cried when she laid the eggs and watched them so that Della could rest.

When their teacher introduces them to family trees one day, the boys come home buzzing with questions about any aunt, uncle, cousin, or great-great-great-great grandfather they have. Della relents and fishes out a photo album Aunt Matilda gave her. Armed with this along with a piece of paper, she sets them all down after dinner and tell them about their family. They're already familar with Gladstone and Fethry, who come by once every month with presents, but Della tells them about Gus and Abner too. How Gus loved food more than anything and that Abner works as a lumberjack. That his parents passed away shortly when the boys were young. His younger brother, Fethry, is somewhere in the world looking for a job and living life. Their cousin Gladstone is probably somewhere where the night is still young and the stores are open 24/7. Grandma Elvira still lives on her farm and continues to tend to it. Aunt Matilda is gone too. Della writes on the paper names and connects them, creating a mess of intercrossing lines. Later, in her room, she’s shaken about how quickly she lost contact with so many and wonders if she can fix things. 

They ask about their father, of course. Noticed how there was a mother to bring a mother's day card to, but not a father. Della says that they were married, once, but decided that it wasn't meant to be and went their own ways before the boys hatched. No, she didn't know where he was and she was fine with that. The real version is that she and a guy had gotten close during a solo trip in Barbados. There were few relationships in Della's life-she was always described as "too flighty"-and he had kindled a fire inside of her that made her feel lightheaded. They drank too much and managed to convince a preacher to marry them; the marriage was short since they divorced in the morning. But, it resulted in her sons and Della was still grateful for going to Barbados. 

Scrooge is never brought up. Not in her stories, not during the examination of the family tree. Only on TV or a newspaper and Della steers her way through it. She still can't think about him without a flash of anger going through her. And if the boys found out they were related to _the_ Scrooge McDuck, they would find out about the past. They were still too young, still believing in half of the fables they've been told. She refuses to put her babies through the same pain Scrooge put her through. But, over the years the anger faded away to something akin to guilt and a mess of emotions.

She tells them about her parents, though. How they met, where they lived, the funny moments they had. "You would've loved them," she said. "Dad would take you guys on little trips. Ma' would spoil you all though."

"Maybe we deserve to be spoiled," Louie says all too innocently before shrieking as Della tickles him for that.

Louie's like that, quick with his tongue and mind. Always coming up with a way that benefits him and his brothers, but mostly him. Manages to weedle his way out of chores and almost out of a dentist appointment. Sarcasm and wit become his tools as he grows and Della suspects its from all the TV drama shows he watches. But, he also makes sure that someone gets an extra space on the couch and tries to be flexible when money is tight. Keyword "tries" because Della has caught him more than once trying to sneak an extra bottle of honey or crackers into his pocket. She understands the feeling when you just want to bend the rules a little too much because _don't you deserve it, you've put up with so much, don't you deserve it?_ She becomes familar with the look in her youngest's eyes, his attitude, his footsteps. 

Dewey isn't like Louie, who chooses his words carefully to ensure a result. He's the most daring, the one who jumps first while others take a step back. He's curious, asking the most questions next to Huey. He's the one who initaites things, the fuse that lights up everything; it either ends up in flames or fireworks. Della can't count how many times she finds the boys about to leave the apartment on a school night to go play in the park or take apart the hair dryer to see if they can turn it into something else. Still, Dewey's polite to Derek and any adult they cross, and is always the one ready to defend.

Huey's the oldest which means a certain amount of responisbility falls down on his shoulders: making sure his brothers are okay. That still doesn't stop him from joining in on their mischief. But, he's smart, always eager to ask questions and to recieve answers or tell them. He's the one who helps his brothers untangle a question and is patient with them over a math problem. Woodchucks is his own thing, bringing home badges and a guidebook that he takes pride in. He’s going to go places far and make something of himself. Sometimes, things become too much for him and when Della sees the cracks forming, takes the time to bring her oldest back down to earth, to reassure him that he's enough and he has time.

Della never loved anyone or anybody so dearly and fiercely in all her life. So much that she double checked on them, kept tape on all the sharp corners in the house until her boys could understand that _sharp=pain=bad_ , and may or may not have broken a few road safety laws to get to home faster. Suddenly, the world was dangerous, too dangerous and Della felt like hiding in a bunker of some sorts with her babies, to protect them and make sure their eyes never filled with tears. But, a part of her knew that that was not possible and so she settled for the nervous feeling in her stomach; it became a familar feeling. It was always there and she has to push down on it because what if they feel like they’re sufficating?

' _Its us against the world, I guess,'_ she thinks after a long day, standing in the doorway of their bedroom. In their sleep, they look younger. ' _Us against the world.'_ Yes, it seemed like it.

~

"I'm screwed," she says to Derek, head in her hands as he slides a glass of mango juice to her. " _So_ screwed." The boys were in the apartment, laboring over homework which gave Della plenty of time to wallow in self-pity.

Derek seats himself across from her. Swallowing back the frustration building up, Della grabs the glass and gulps it down, wishing for something stronger.

"So," Derek began after watching her down the juice. "What happened?" And Della tells him.

She had started the job four days ago. Office jobs were something she wasn't familiar with. It was different then working on a machine with tools at ready. It was too long, too slow in ways that Della couldn't describe. A dullness had settled in the atmosphere of the office building and she didn't like it one bit.

So, she wanted to add some fun. So, she started to make some jokes with the other workers and...Now, Della wouldn't say that she may have gotten overboard, but her boss had a face that spelled out _awkward._ Droopy eyes, heavy jowls, ears that stook out like soup ladles. Della couldn't take anything seriously from the guy when he spoke. She had thought that it was okay to make just one joke.

No one told her her boss was behind her when she made that joke about his shuffle of a walk. Della swore her heart skipped a beat when Mr. Pruse told her to come to his office.

Not only did he have something to say about her "insults"-Della had tried to explain that they were jokes, but was cut off every time-but also about her coming in on time on work. How he noticed how late she has been coming to work for the past few days. When she tried to explain that it was because she had to drop the boys off at school-the bus didn't come their way, it was faster-she was cut off. Della left the room with a warning ringing in her ears that if she was late again, she was fired.

Traffic that day had been rather heavy. She arrived to work to find her boss next to her desk with a cardboard box and a pink slip.

"What am I going to do, Derek?" she asked now, looking at the duck across. "That job paid good and I can't think of any place like that! God, why did I have to joke around. Why couldn't have I woken up early?!"

" 'Cause you said that the boys got mad at you for dropping them off at school too early," Derek reminded her, pouring more juice in their glasses. "Del', its going to be fine."

Said woman shot him a look. "No, it won't! I _need_ a job so that I can be prepared for the next bills. Plus, Dewey needs new boots and Huey might need some money for Woodchucks. We're running low on food, too, and I don't want to get take-out again 'cause we already had it. Maybe I could try out that branch from my old job. Or-or that fish place downtown."

"Okay," Derek said in a calm tone that was such a contrast from Della's agitated one. "And that's why I am about to hand you this."

He stood from the table and disappeared into the living room, coming back with the newspaper in hand. It was tossed infront of her and Della glanced down to see it was open to a page with several help wanted ads plastered on it.

"Wow. Convenient," she remarked, picking it up and taking a sip from her juice. 

Derek sat back down and smiled. "You're lucky that I didn't toss that out. I was about to, though."

"Damn right I'm lucky. You're a lifesaver, Derek."

"So much of a lifesaver that I deserve some chocolate doughnut?"

"Didn't you say you were trying to loose weight? What happened to that?"

"...Listen, I went a month without eating a cookie and waking up early to go to the gym every day, I deserve this."

"Get your own."

"Then, you don't deserve th-OW!"

"I didn't even hit you that hard!"

"Yeah, you did!"

~

She loved her boys. Would cut her hand off her them, step infront of a freight train, but sometimes...

" _Hold still, Mom!"_

 _"_ GET OFF OF ME!"

Tripping onto her kitchen's floor because her youngest decided to try and do her hair was not how Della wanted the morning to start.

Groaning, she stood up to see Huey standing on a stool infront of the stove, (thankfully) wearing mittens. "Good morning, Mom," he greeted, smiling.

Louie shot her a look. "You can't go to your interview with your hair like that. You have to brush it, Mom. And you can't wear this to your job interview." He held up her aviators jacket before tossing it aside.

Della let out a gasp. "My jacket! Louie, that is irreplaceable!" 

As she hurriedly switched off the washer, Louie held up the outfit he had picked out. A clean, button up shirt with a coat and tie, black pants. "You gotta' dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Which is no job," he said.

Again, Della cursed herself for buying them that stethascope which they used to listen to her's and Derek's conversation. "Huey, what have I told you about the stove?"

"To not use it without permission and supervision, but its a big day! And a big day calls for a big breakfast." With that, Huey handed her a plate with a cooked fish and egg on it. Della tried not to cringe when it deflated and released what looked like to be puss. 

Instead, she opted for a small smile. "Thanks, baby, but I already ate. But, Louie hasn't." Ignoring the enraged look her youngest sent her, Della slipped into her room to change and fastens a black headband on.

"Has the babysitter come yet?" she called out as she stepped out. Derek would have been here, but was busy with a report. 

"Not yet," Huey called from the table.

Feeling slightly harried, Della pulled out her phone and tried to call. She sighed when she realized that the old bird would not be able to come soon. ' _Where am I going to find a babysitter at 10:00?'_ "10:00 o'clock!" she gasped, looking at the time. Suddenly, she was being pushed out the door and her keys were being shoved into her hands.

"You gotta' go!" Louie exclaimed as they ran downstairs.

"Yeah, good luck on you interview," Huey said.

"No pressure."

"Drive safe."

Della stopped and stared at them. They were far too content with her just leaving them for a couple of hours. "What, you thought I was gonna' leave you guys alone? When there are matches in the apartment? Nope, you're coming with me." Ignoring their protests, she grabbed a hand and began walking to the car whena thought struck her. "Wait, where's Dewey?"

Her car suddenly came to life, emitting a growl. ' _Oh, for the love of-'_

Inside the car, she found her son sitting at the bottum of the driver's seat, messing around with some wires and speaking into a walkie-talkie. "Alright, boys! We'll get to Funso's Fun Zone and back before anyone realize's we're gone. So long, boring apartment! Hello..." Dewey trailed off when he caught sight of a glaring Della and two sheepish looking brothers. "Mom! Wh-What's up?"

In the end, the three young ducks were all piled into the back of the car. "I can't leave you boys alone for one second, can I?" Della asked, half-exasperated, half-amused. Inwardly, she panicked. Would it be a good idea to bring them to the interview? She didn't know anyone else to watch them and leaving them at a place like Funso's Fun Zone was out of the question. ' _There's one place,'_ a tiny voice whispered. Della felt her mouth dry up.

"Boys," she said after swallowing. "When you're an adult, you have to do things you don't want to do."

She pushed a button and bit her tongue when the GPS announced that they were going to McDuck Manor, a place she hasn't seen in years.

' _You owe me, Scrooge.'_

_~_

Sadness. Anger. Anxiety. Guilt.

This is what Della felt as she heard her uncle yell at her after 10 years.

He still looked the same. Same cane, same red coat, same tophat. A few years has piled on him and it touched under his eyes, but not his posture.

When she had pulled up to the gate, she had been scared. A deep unease in her stomach that was still there even as she faced him.

All those years of earasing him from stories, of avoiding newspaperers about him, of not giving her opinion on him, of switching off the TV when they so much as mentioned him, of hearing her sons talk of him and all the great things he's done...

"Della Duck," Scrooge said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Uncle Scrooge," Della greeted.

No hug. No smile. No warm welcome. What did you expect, when you haven't talked to someone you looked up to in years. What do you even say?

"You still have elbow patches," she pointed out. His coat was always pristine unless an adventure got rougher or he decided to play rough. When he started wearing the patches, Della had loudly proclaimed that Scrooge McDuck was as old a dust.

"Ye still hae yer scarf," he pointed out as well, eyeing the peak of blue coming from her jacket pocket.

"Yep. Still a trillionaire?" Despite having that much money, he didn't spoil anyone. But, Della could still remember all those banquets, balls, dinner parties. Men with pressed suits and sharp corners, women in elegant dresses. Everyone knowing what to eat, to drink. Della had always looked for the kids and made quick friends every time.

Scrooge lifted his cane and pointed at the manor still on top. "Good, good," Della said, feeling as if she had too.

Of course, Scrooge had plenty to say. And then, they were arguing like they had over deals, over who does who, over the last helmet. Somehow, somehow, she manages to get him to watch the boys.

"Remember," she began. "No tricks, no lies, no trouble."

"Yes, Mom," chorused her sons.

"I wasn't talking to you." Della looks at Scrooge and hopes she's conveying the message through her gaze. That even though she trusts him taking care of her boys, she doesn't trust him fully.

When she drives away, second thoughts creep up.

~

Even though Della dozes off while waiting, she gets the job. Except, its a job they've chosen for her. When her new boss-a squat duck in the most steryotypical Scottish outfit she's seen-tells her that the position for accountant has been filled in, a small pit of unease forms in her stomach. It evaporates when she's their new navigator and suddenly, the quiz she took earlier makes sense; it had asked if Della had insurance(its been a long time since she's checked) or if she had any experience with submarines(yes).

Of course, she knows about Atlantis. Once a story mentioned once or twice as kids, later a place she became obsessed with. Spent countless of hours pouring over ancient books and scrolls to look for any sign of the lost city or a hint. Even now Della still knows that it was used as an allegory in Plato's _The Republic,_ that the author's student, Aristotle, invented the city to teach philosophy. But, her boss-Glomgold-is more interested in where its located and if its true that a rare jewel lies there.

Suspicion is planted in her when she sees the rest of her co-workers.

"So," Della begins, addressing the two wolves infront of her, both who look like they belong in a gang. She's in an a black aviators jacket and her scarf is slung around her neck."Where are you guys from?"

"Russia," the shorter, grey one answers. The accent is evident.

Della glances down at a map spread on the table, picking up a pencil as she asks questions. "How'd you guys get this job?"

"Ve verre top tvo to past trial runs," the grey wolf answered, taking a sip from his drink. "And you?"

"Well, I applied for an accountant but it was filled in. Now, I'm the navigator." Della's good with maps, is still handy with a compass to chart the safest course and is familar with longitide and latitude. "Haven't done this in a while, though." She glances over to the tall, grey bird in a yellow jumpsuit whose busy making a wooden dagger. "What about you?"

The look the taller woman gives her steely look. "I was raised by warrio monks who spoke only the language of the blade." With that, she twirled the wooden dagger and stabbed it in the corner of the map Della was working on. Then, she sliced it in two with the tip of her sword.

Della had never felt more impressed and scared in her life. "Nice," she says in order to cool her nerves after seeing an expert hand cut wood perfectly. ' _An assasin or spy or both. And those two guys do the dirty work, probably.'_

An alarm blares and they all rush over to the screen to see a submarine by the boat. The video cuts to, of all people-

"Scrooge?!" The name leaves Della as she stares at the screen in bewilderment. She barely listens to what Glomgold is saying as her mind whirs. ' _If he's here, then where are the-'_

The door beside him flies open and three familar ducklings file out. "The boys?!" Vexation swells up in and a growl escapes her. "When I get my hands on him, he's dead!"

Suddenly, Glomgold is smiling at her. "Oooh, better idea. Nab th' jewel AND kill thaim all! Somebody's angeling fur Employee o' th' Munth!" The jab he gives her in the stomach doesn't help with the unease she know feels. Glomgold was going to hurt her sons if she didn't do something. Fast.

' _God dammit, Scrooge.'_

~

They're all hunched behind some jagged rocks and are watching Scrooge, the boys, and two others. Della sees Glomgold give Gabby a nod, resulting in the grey bird to bring out a series of small daggers. She spins them, about to launch them and Della feels panic shoot through her.

"Wait!" She reaches over and grabs a tight hold of Gabby's wrist, earning her a venomous glare. If looks could kill... "Scrooge knows where he's going," she says quickly. "And we don't. If we kill them know, we won't get the jewel. So, let's follow them."

Gabby looks like she wants nothing more than to stab Della's hand while Glomgold looks like she's just gave him a slice of cake. "Brilliant idea!" he says as they climb out from behind the rocks and throws an arm around Della's shoulder. "And we kin torture thaim! Ae want Scrooge alive whin Ae rub th' Jewel o' Atlantis in his smug face! He thinks he's sooo rich 'n' sooo Scottish! Weel, Ae'm wearin' a kilt, McDuck! A KILT!" he bellowed. ' _God, this guy is desperate.'_

They continue to follow the others through the halls of Atlantis. At first glance, it seemed like a normal, ancient building. But, at a closer look, Della could see that the murals were upside down and that the doorways they walked through had a small wall at the bottum. The city was upside down, the point of the building buried in the sand. ' _If there are booby traps, would it be on the celing then.'_

Della was jarred out of her thinking when she heard a familar scream. ' _Huey!'_ Dread settled in as she thought of how tight her situation in. ' _Abandoning Glomgold is too suspicious, but I need to get to my boys. Maybe I can drag them along or something? No, but they might get pissed.'_

Della glanced back at the group and slowly backed away from them. She kept on walking backwards before ducking into a crack hallway from way Huey had screamed. Exiting out of it, she glanced up and say blue lights criss-crossing on a bridge. There was enough light for Della to see Scrooge and Dewey.

She was just about to call out to them when a loud _whoosh_ and a surge of heat caught her attention. She looked down and saw a wall of fire there-and then it was gone, leavig behind a smokey smell and a strange marking in the ground. ' _Oh, so there's the booby trap.'_

Looking back up, she could see Dewey's determined face, a look that resulted in a bandage usually. Grabbing a shield, Della threw it as hard as she could against the rock they were standing on but it was no use; Dewey had already lept onto the bridge and neither of them noticed the noise. Another shield at ready, Della began blocking all of the holes that would have spit fire. Its hot, terrible hot, and she's certain that some of her feathers have been singed off her face but it keeps Dewey safe. Speaking of Dewey, he's standing on something that _won't turn the fire off_ and Della slips one, twice, because it _burns so bad._

Finally, she can't take it. "MOVE!" Della shouts with all her might and looking up, its enough to cause Dewey to step back. The fire shoots up lightning-quick without Della trying to hold it back and it burns an end off of the bridge which slams into the other wall of the room. As she falls back down, Scrooge and Dewey are looking down on the ground, searching for either her or the source of the yell. Della feels as if all of her energy has just been poured into stopping the fire from shooting up and then there's relief that her son was okay that makes her close her eyes and just lie there on the ground.

Until Glomgold and the others fine her and drag her off to the treasure by the arm.

The room where the jewel lies is vast, the floor covered in gold coins. Treasure chests with even more coins and gems are scattered around and Della can make out a few vaces as well. Necklaces with gleaming gems lying in their hold are held up on the hilts of swords and axes buried deep in the sea of coins. In the center of the room, held up by a hand carved out of stone and gleaming red, was a ruby bigger than Della. 

The sight of it makes something tingle in her veins, the excitement you feel when you finally discover something you searched for. God, she missed this. The jumps, the drops, the discoveries. She had enough money to take her and the boys out of state but it wasn't the same as traveling from one continent to another. No, it was like a clog in a shower as the water flowed in at a trickle instead of a full on rush. The rush was what she had missed in her life.

Della tensed up when Glomgold snatched the jewel from the stone hand and confusion set in when no traps were released. ' _A jewel that big must have some protection. Unless-'_

"Let go of my Mom!" She wips around and sees Dewey standing there, a fierce look on his face and hands up, ready to fight. Then, all the anger felt when she first saw the boys on the screen and not at the manor came back. There was a small amount of betrayel in their, too, at Scrooge for not keeping them out of trouble.

Scrooge pops out of the gold and knocks Glomgold down, and just like that Della is back on an adventure with Scrooge McDuck, facing off their foe as the treasure lays within arms reach.

Except she's furios. "What are you doing here, Scrooge?" she growls at him. "I told you to watch the boys, not drag them on one of your adventures!"

Scrooge has the audacity to look unerved. "Ah, they're perfectly fine," he replies, not taking his eyes off of Glomgold.

Della scowls. "Then, where are the others?

Scrooge still looks calm as he answer her. "Back safe in th' room o' fire 'n' th' snakes."

She can feel her stress levels rise. "What?!"

Suddenly, she's a prisoner. Two hands are on her shoulder, tight in their grip and the sharp end of a sailor promises to be shoved in her throat if she tries anything funny. She's dragged along with the group to the entrance only to be shoved back down to where Dewey and Scrooge are. As Glomgold gloats, Gabby throws her sai up, causing the gem on the ceiling to glow a faint blew. Water suddenly spews from the mouths of the statues and the entrance is sealed.

"We gotta' stop the water!" Dewey cries out in distress, running frantically to one of the mouths of the statues. Despite their best efforts, the water is waist high in a matter of seconds. Della's frustration grows along with it.

"I knew it!" she yells to Scrooge, whose ontop of the stone hand in order to avaid the water. "I knew you would pull something like this!"

"Nae th' time, Della!" he calls back, but Della doesn't care. She had trusted him to not let them get hurt or drag them along into some ancient building. If she hadn't had gotten her hopes up-she could've tried one of her friends from work, or drop them at the park-the boys wouldn't be stuck here, trapped. 

"Even after all these years, you still can't get enough of all this dangerous stuff, huh, old man?!" Della spits out. "All you care about is some ancient building or-or some treasure rather than others. You just drag them along because you know they'll help you somehow! I should have never come back to ask you a favor because it always comes back to bite me!" 

"Then, this is yer fault then fur asking me fur favors!" Scrooge snaps back, irritation clear in his voice.

Della would have said more if it weren't for Dewey. "Stop!" he called, clinging to a floating treasure chest. "Scrooge was trying to keep me out of trouble, but I was so caught up-Why is there lamp on the floor?"

"What?" Della looked up and saw the large, light blue gem held up by a hand. It was glowing faintly. Dewey is still talking about Atlantis, how up was down now, and how that the 'lamp'- _"is_ _the Jewel of Atlantis!"_ both Scrooge and Dewey exclaim, the former jumping into the water to swim to Della.

Dewey looks excited, eyes shining as he comes closer. "Mom! You gotta let the room flood!"

"Are you crazy?! If it floods, we'll hit the ceiling...and...get to the gem." Something is clicking in her mind, cogs turning at a rate that catches her up with her son's plan. Still, something jams. "But, what if it doesn't work, Dewey!"

Her son's beak is set in determination. "You have to trust me on this. Its the only thing you can do. Wow, this is an insightful deathtrap!"

Of course she trusts her him. Trusts him to be on his best behavior, to always be there for his brothers, to stand up for himself and others, to come to her if there are any problems in life. But, thats only a mere handful of the things Della trusts her sons because she's still scared for some odd, unknown, ridiculous reason.

So, she adds another trust into the pile.

And it comes with a reward.

~

Fate, as always, is a mysterious thing. Somehow, they managed to find the others, escape a crumbling underwater city-along with Glomgold's former 'emplyees'-and make it back to Duckburgh. The press have a field day. _Scrooge McDuck Returns to Adventure with Family._

Still, Della can't settle down. She knows that the boys wouldn't want to go back to their small apartment after seeing the manor with its plush carpeting and stained glasses. Would talk endlessly about Atlantis and the traps. Would beg to visit their Uncle Scrooge every Friday, every weekend, every chance they get. Della had tried so hard at keeping them away from the one Scrooge, someone who sought out trouble and managed to survive without so much as a scrape. But, she can still see Dewey's face light up when he found the true Jewel of Atlantis, still see Huey take down that wolf, sees Louie talking to that girl with the pink bow. A part of her wants to pack up and leave because _they're too young, they have their own lives, what if this goes too far_. And another part says that Huey and Dewey drag themselves around the apartment often, that Louie is more interested in the old jewerly and vaces at the museum, that any time they plan a trip they sign up for zip-lining or a tour. They're restless and sometimes a road trip every month or so doesn't cut it.

Scrooge notices her walking up to him. "Now, Della-"

"Stop." She hold up a hand and lets it drop. "One, I'm still mad at you for taking my sons on an underwater adventure-without talking to me about it no less! Two, no matter what I do, these guys will always get into trouble, Scrooge. Maybe you can try and teach them to get out of trouble."

"Mom?" Dewey asks, astonished as his brothers. Disbelief is growing on their faces.

Della smiles a little at them as she kneels down. "Your lives have been a little dull, anyways. It won't hurt to visit your uncle every once in a while." And when they cheer, she grins. 

Then, she gets a call from her landlord that there might be an infestation in their apartment. They might have to move out with all of their belongings. Of course, Scrooge has a few dozen spare rooms for the boys and her.

And Della knows she makes the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -You can pry the headcannon that baby ducks have yellow feathers as babies from my cold. Dead. Hands.  
> -Louie took 48 minutes to hatch which would send anyone into panic  
> -I've seen everywhere where Fethry and Abner loose their parents at a young age like Donald, Della, and Gladstone but because of the last chapter where I included their parents I panicked and wrote that they died when the triplets were very young.  
> -Yes, this is me characterizing my boys and yES it has been done before and YES I LOVE THEM AND WOULD DIE FOR THEM  
> -Funzo's Fun Zone is a playhouse in Duckburgh. It was showed in Daytrip of Doom and Storkules In Town  
> -Do any of ya'll remember that part in the first episode where Donald is Glomgold's new sailor instead of an accountant? Yeah, how did they know Donald has the skills of a sailor? Did they look up his past history or was a test passed out that asked questions like 'what are your skills bla bla bla?'  
> -With Della in this story, I feel like after the Spear of Selene she became anxious and parinoid about her sons going on adventures or something because her last attempt at one resulted in her loosing Donald. So, she kinda hovers around them and is a little prying in their lives. But, she still is laid back. Instead of climbing the cardboard stand of the grand canyon, they actually go to the gran canyon. Instead of telling Huey to get away from the stove, Della tells him that he can use the stove but only with permission and supervision. Della can hold jobs longer than Donald-with his temper and whatnot-but she gets antsy when the workplace atmosphere seems too dull. A mechanic at a garage is something she would rather do than be in a cubicle. So, she might get fired for horsing arounf a bit and being late from taking care of three kids??? Idk, this is my insight to show the differences between her and Donald when it comes to raising the boys.
> 
> Also....87 kudos???? I didn't expect this thing to get that many ehat??? Thank you all so much and I'll see ya in the next one scouts!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To others, McDuck Manor was a place you dreamed to live in. To Della, it was a place she remembered in her dreams when sleep decided to bring her there.
> 
> So many happy moments, so many sad ones...

Della is standing in the door of her empty apartment. Its been stripped bare of all of its photos and all of their posessions. The infestation team she had called the other day were on their way and the moving van was ready to go.

The boys were excited. Louie was giddy at the thought of living in a manor, with its plush pillors and prestine carpeting. Huey was mostly excited about the different rooms. Was there a gym? An armory room? What about the basement, did it have a theatre room like Josh from school? Dewey had his eyes set on adventure only with _the_ Scrooge McDuck, who just happened to be his great uncle. But, by piecing together the bits she heard as boxes after boxes were filled with their belongings Della could tell they were happy to be living in the same building as their new friend, Webby. Webby was as active as Dewey, maybe more. When she had first saw Della, a look of awe had crossed her face. 

They were going to the manor. _Della_ she was going back to the manor. A place that she had run down the halls, waving toys and laughing. Had gone home their for parties and visits, stayed their during flight school. The manor had become a home to her, a place of familiarity as the years went by. Before, she had been dazzled by the diamonds lying casually in a bowl with apples and the sword in the umbrella rack. These things quickly became familar to her.

To others, McDuck Manor was a place you dreamed to live in. To Della, it was a place she remembered in her dreams when sleep decided to bring her there.

So many happy moments, so many sad ones...

Della had lost her parents at the age of 6. Grandma Elvira had been the one to take custody of her and her brother, along with Gladstone. But, Grandma had gotten older and taxes were being raised. It hurt her-Della knew, she saw the tears-to send her and Donald to McDuck Manor. And Della had been furious to leave her warm and comfortable farm for this empty old place.

She tried to make the best of it and it worked. Scrooge, who said little than two words to them for a few days, eventually warmed up to the children under his care. Enough to take them into one of his rooms to show all the artifacts he managed to obtain over the years. That vase from a maze in Greece. Those axes from Madagascar after batteling a Chimera. These scrolls from an underwater library somewhere in the Namib Desert. Della had listened intently as her uncle spun tales of his adventures. It was one of the many things that connected them, a rope interwined with the threads of adventure.

After college and flight school, Della had gone back to McDuck Manor. Life had been too slow, too dull. She needed something to make it more interesting; a little spice to a blandess that seemed to settle on everything. Scrooge was more than happy to help and began planning a trip. Donald was added to the mix soon after; he had agreed only because neither of them knew their way around a boat. He slowly joined them on every trip and their duo became a trio for a long time. They made headlines, saved countless of people, solved century old mysteries that historians struggled with. Came home with a few scars with a story behind them sometimes, but it was apart of the adventure.

Della had been happy. They all were happy. Unless one adventure took a sudden turn and suddenly one of them needed first aid or the hospital or a curse grabbed ahold. Aside from that, it had been a time of exhilaration and victory.

But, Della wanted more. She couldn't get enough of discovering new places and jotting down the facts of them. Space had drew her nearer and nearer until she was hundreds of feet from it, until Donald had pushed her out, until she had slowly floated to the ground because of her brother.

The adventures had stopped when Della became pregnant but her thirst for it stopped after she lost Donald.

And now she was going back to the place where happy and sad are going to merge into a pot of nostalgia, tasting bittersweet.

Della took a deep breath, cast a look at the place where little babies had been chased around and taxes had been paid and the rug had taken spills of various foods and drinks, grabbed her suitcase and closed the door behind her.

~

She takes the room across from her sons. Unpacks and helps unload the boxes. Goes over to the boys and makes sure they have everything. After that, she heads down to the kitchen for lunch.

She's not the only one whose their. Bentina stands by the sink, wiping a bowl dry and looks over to see Della walk in.

"Hello, Della," she greets, placing the bowl away.

"Hi, Mrs. B." Feeling slightly awkward, Della looked around for thr fridge and headed forward to it. "You look well."

"And you've grown your hair out a little. It's nice, but the other one suited you." A pause. "It's good to have you back, you know." All Della could do is nod.

She and Bentina had spoken more than just on the day of the funeral. Three years after it, Della had called McDuck Manor because she missed her uncle. Missed talking to him about ancient tales and legends, missed going with him on trips, missed drinking tea with him. Instead of Scrooge or Duckworth answering the phone, it had been Bentina. After a few polite words, Della had asked to speak to her uncle. She was told he was busy. After multiple attempts at trying to reach out to him-only to be rebuffed over and over-Della gave up. "If he's going to keep this up, then fine. I'm done trying," were her words to Bentina, who had tried to convine her to call one last time. Scrooge not calling Della-not even trying at all and making it very clear-had stung.

"Yeah, it's weird to be back after living in an apartment. I almost forgot how big it was." Her hands came upon a bag of bread and some cheese. "Do you have tomato soup?"

"I've got it." Bentina swiftly walked over to a cabnient and grabbed the specific can. "Forgive me for being blunt, but you should really talk to your uncle."

Della focused on spreading the cheese across the bread. "I already did talk to him. About adventuring and how long until they fix my place and about the boys-"

"No, I mean about you and him," Bentina said sharply, the older woman's eyes narrowed slightly. Della felt her stomach clench a little and her grip on the soon to be cooked sandwich grew slightly tighter.

Her tone is curt as she speaks. "Scrooge made it really clear to not talk to be about that stuff so why bother."

"You don't know that, Della."

"Oh, I don't know?"

"Yes. I've been with him for all these years and I understand how you feel when he didn't talk to him. But, don't you think that enough is enough?"

Della felt irritation bubble up slightly at that. Yes, she and Bentina had spoken once or twice but were they on the same level for her to give Della advice?"Let me know when my food is done," she said before pushing past the taller woman. "I came here for lunch, not to get advice from you."

Bentina did not let her know when her food was ready.

~ 

The boys-usually Dewey and Louie-wouldn't always tell her when their clothes needed to be thrown into the the laundry bag back in the apartment. Della was always annoyed by that-the clothes smelled and got into the other ones, they wouldn't have any more clean ones, it was their responsibility and not hers-and often found herself riffling around to find the dirty ones after putting a load in the washer. So she would take the smaller ones and handwash them in the bathroom. It saved time and money.

And that is what she was doing that morning, in one of the many bathrooms in the manor. How was she suppose to know that it would result in a house meeting?

Della took one look at Bentina rules and had stood up. She bet that the woman herself broke some and tried to excuse it. Besides, didn't those restrictions get tedious and would restrict others in a way?

All she could think of was Duckworth, who, while having rules of his own, still allowed a few things to slide. Crumbs sweped under the table. A test bleeding red marks in the trash.

Living in the manor meant that she could do something she hadn't done in a long time: get lost in a library. Sure, there was the public library but Della never had time to go there. The knowledge that there was a vast library waiting for her stirred her to head down with her old CD player to play music in the background. And maybe some other electronics because its been a long time since she used that shiatsu and an eletric blanket wouldn't hurt, would it?  
  
Of course, a certain housekeeper had to remind her of the eletric bill. Of course, Della had to retaliate by bringing one of the lounge chairs beneath the shadow of a tree in the garden and reading there. "Out of the house," Della had called to an irritated Bentina.

She felt younger, one upping Bentina like this. Until said woman politely (forcefully) replaced (demolished) her CD player with a creaky gramophone. And she was almost certain the brick had to be her doing. Almost being the keyword.

The contents of the letter had left a cold feeling in her chest, shooting through her veins. A newfound energy in her, Della ran for Scrooge and gave up because the clock was ticking and her children were in trouble and _she neede to be faster, neededto hurry._

Another name popped up. Suddenly, her feet were taking her around the manor in search for Bentina. And she's grateful, so goddamn grateful that the other woman tells her to grab her keys because she understands

"Why would the Beagle Boys be at Funso's?" she asked as they sped along the road, grip on the wheel a little too tight. "The bus there doesn't stop at there territory!"

"I don't know," replied Mrs. Beakley. "But, no doubt its just Ma Beagle and her boys. It'll make it easier to take them down."

"Hopefully." They stop at a red light and Della fights the urge to shout. "I should have checked up on them, why didn't I?"

"Della, don't worry. We-" She's cut off by Della practically yelling,"How can I not worry?!"

A silence fell over the car. "I'm sorry," Della finally muttered. "I'm just-"

"Worried? You're not alone."

It struck her that Webby was with the boys, too and Mrs. Beakle's words made more sense.

They pulled up to the gates of Funso's and caught a glimpse of Ma Beagle disappearing into the building as they exited the car. The other two dogs approached them with viscious grins on their faces and all Della felt was rage. How dare they barge into her children's lives, how dare they take them, _how dare they, how dare they, how dare they._ Her jaw was clenched and Della could not hear anything, a faint ringing in her ear replacing the usual background noise of the world. A slight growl escaped her. When the Beagle Boys were a foot away from them, she charged forward, sliding between the hulkier one's legs. Della pushed up with her legs and managed to grab a hold of the man's head, digging her fingers into a forehead and an eye.

Years of fighting Vikings, angry spirits, of bruising her knuckles because of fights in the playground, of learning the best way to snap a wrist came back. Della used her anger to push through and influence her attacks, and was vaguely aware of Mrs. Beakley joining in.

The relief she felt upon finding the boys safe was instant. Hugging them dispelled any panic that had worked its way into her system. A quick glance shows there's barely a scratch on them including Webby, who is surverying the tied up Ma Beagle and her lackey with pride alongside with her grandmother.

The police come, the Beagle Boys are taken away, and Della finds out about a ban being lifted off of the kids. "Excuse me?" she says to her sons, who avoid looking at her. "You've got some explaining to go."

Back at the manor, Bentina shows her the circuit box, explains how to save energy anytime she uses an eletronic device larger than her phone. "Thanks, Mrs. B," Della says. A thought struck her. "Hey, how come you know so much about eletricity and taekwando?"

Bentina's eyes crinkled as she smiles. "Oh, simple, I'm a spy."

That brought a laugh out of her.

~

Eventually, Della adjusts to her new life back in the manor. It was like putting on boots that haven't been worn in so long and hadn't seen the light of day in years; just walk around in them for a while and suddenly the stiffness and slight discomfort was gone.

While the kids went on adventure after adventure with Scrooge, Della searched for a job. One that had a good enough pay to cover what the infestation team was asking for and whose boss wasn't an insane and obsessive rival of her uncles. She was able to get a job at that dealership, something that involved talking to people and convincing them to choose this car or that. The feeling that life was going her way, for once, settled upon her for a few days.

It gets lifted off of her when she wakes up too early on a Saturday and finds only Scrooge sitting at the table, about to sit down.

The sound of the door opening caused Scrooge to glance up. "Ah, Good mornin', Della," he said, a small smile on his beak.

"Mornin'." Della took sat down. "Got any plans today?"

"Oh, we're probably goin' tae an ancient 'n' possible mystical cove in Grenada after lunch. You?"

"Uh, probably gonna' run some errands. Maybe go the the gym."

"Hmm."

"Yeah."

And then there was silence. Della focused all her attention on her bagels as her minds wandered to the previous conversations she and Scrooge had. Those had held humor and a sense of warmth in them, two minds that held the same idea. It had been so easy to talk to Scrooge but now there was something there that made them choose their words carefully. Della couldn't understand why this surprised her. She had not talked to Scrooge in 10 years and did not even bother to try contact him again after that last attempt. What could she say to make up for all that time?

Della looked up and saw Scrooge staring at her. "Its guid tae have ye back, las," he said softly. A tone he only used around few people.

Della felt that her tongue was too big in her mouth. Seeing that she didn't speak, Scrooge would have continued if the Huey and Webby hadn't walked into the room with their own respective foods. Della shot Scrooge a look-a silent _later_ that she hoped her uncle would understand- and greeted the kids. As they and Scrooge chatted away, Della's mind drifted as she ate.

Scrooge didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. He had said that people would take that heart and rip it off of his sleeve if he did. Instead, he carefully chose his character when meeting stranger after stranger in his life, later expressing himself to them. Della could not help but think it was because of him coming to America, about how half of the stories he heard was false because sometimes the crowd pointed fingers at the one with the clean hands, but not-in other eyes-a clean name. But, Della knew the true Scrooge after spending so much time with him. Except sometimes a new layer would be peeled and she would be taken by surprise and think,' _Maybe not.'_

But right now...

In that moment...

Della didn't want to talk to Scrooge about the Spear of Selene, about her mistakes and his, about the falling out betweenf them. It was all too painful. But if she didn't, it would just sit there and fester.

_"Forgive me for being blunt, but you should really talk to your uncle."_

' _Don't stop being blunt, Mrs. B.'_

Scrooge and the kids end up leaving after breakfast because Dewey became too impatient, then Webby. They leave and Della wanders around the library, dragging her fingers across the spines of books she hasn't touched. After lunch with Bentina, she headed to the gym because she needs to do something. Della was never the type to lounge about when the sun was still high up. She always felt better when she was given a task to do something active.

The kids and Scrooge came back just before dinner. Della listened as they rambled on about the cove while glancing at Scrooge. This morning still had its hooks on her and refused to be let go.

She found him later in his office, examining a large pendant. Della swallowed once, twice then spoke.

"Scrooge?" Said duck looked up. "Can we talk?"

A flicker of surprise passed by Scrooge's face."Have a seat, las."

She sat and her uncle leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped. Della suddenly found herself without any words to say and frantically searched for them.

At last, they were found. "You missed me. Us."

A nod from her uncle, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"You could have called or tried to talk to us. _I_ tried to talk to you, Scrooge, and you-" Della cut herself off by taking a deep breathe, finding that she needed it. "We were right here, Scrooge. You ignored my calls. Why?"

Scrooge frowned and it seemed as if all the wrinkles he had went down with out. "Ae was still trying tae fin' him." He sighed and looked down. "Ae kept on thinking Donald was still out thare 'n' nearly lost myself-nearly lost so much-trying tae fin' him." His voice sounded slightly strained and it reminded Della of how strained she felt when the boys were babies, how everything seemed to be rushing at her too fast.

Scrooge had always been stubborn and Della wasn't surprised when she heard this. Even she still called Donald's number after a month passed without seeing or hearing him

Della looked at the old duck before her. Remembers how furious and betrayed she felt for so long, how she missed him. All those times she spent at his side-pulling him up, making sure there was an extra sandwich, defending him, stopping a blow to the head-only to be replaced with not giving a single word on _that crooked Capitalist, Scrooge McDuck_ or _Scrooge McDuck, the greatest adventurer._ She should feel anger at him after all these years but she can't bring herself to. Right now there was only a sense of exhaustation and longing-for everything to become less painful and to stop to coming in so fast.

Scrooge glanced at her and suddenly it was her turn to speak. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"Don' be. Ae would've done th' same thing."

People had always said that she and Scrooge were alike. "I guess I forgot that other people lost Donald, too. That they suffered."

"Don' beat yersel' up, las. Grief-It make's us do things we ne'er thought we would do."

A dawning realization came to Della. She had forgiven Scrooge years ago, when she had flipped through the pages of an old photo book and putting herself in his shoes. 

"I'm not mad at you anymore, you know," she says softly. "I was when I tried to call you, but now...Well, I miss you too."

"...Ye porbably think A'm crazy, trying tae look for Donald all these years," Scrooge said, a chuckle empty of humor escaping him. His face sobered up. "Ae cannae change th' past, bit maybe Ae can chage us?" The last but came out in a question, as if he were seeking Della's approval.

She smiled, thinking about how much her uncle missed and how much she missed. "That sounds great." Knew that it would take a while for both of them to talk like this again despite the connection they had.

It was progress, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -In the first episode of Ducktales, Beakley says to Scrooge "You have avoided them for ten years!" which means that Della wasn't the only one who steered away from Scrooge, who is stubborn as hell and probably has his reasons not to call Della. alsoImayormaynotwriteaboutthat  
> -LET DONALD AND BENTINA INTERACT MORE  
> -I watched Daytrip of Doom for this and poor Carl.  
> -I feel like Della would still call Beakley Mrs. B, but know her name. Ya know, to be casual  
> -While Donald would shout and scream while fighting, Della would have something akin to a silent anger while coordinating her attacks  
> -No, Della doesn't give Mrs. B a look after she 'jokes' that she was a spy. This is because Donald was a secret agent known as Double Duck and since we don't have that much info on Della, I assume she wasn't a secret agent or something.  
> -SCROOGE NEEDS TO SIT DOWN AND TALK TO DONALD, GLADSTONE, AND FETHRY ABOUT ALL THE SHIT THAT HAPPENED PLS PLS PLSP PLS THEY N E E D TO TALK IM SICK OF THIS VAGUE SHIT LIKE??? HE NEEDS TO APOLOGISE TO FETHRY AND NEED HUG GLADSTONE AND DONALD???  
> -According to the Ducktales (2017) wiki page about McDuck Manor, Launchpad lives in the garage. Which is weird to me bc he must have some money to afford a house or maybe he just preferes the garage for some reason??/  
> -Someone mentioned that Scrooge's accent makes it hard to read so I'm writing it more simple
> 
> Pls take this chapter. Della and Scrooge have talked but they haven't fully talked about.....yknow.......how the loss of Donald affected them, the impact both of them have on each other's lives, Scrooge not handling his emotions well and probaly went to therapy after Donald's death, Della still thinking that it was her fault Donald is gone, how adventuring may or may not have given them PTSD (don't look at me weird, you would get so paranoid after almost getting killed by people with swords). Yknow, all that stuff  
> See ya in the next one folks!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey didn't know when he learned about his uncle. Huey claimed that they had been rather young and their mother agreed with them, but Dewey still had his doubts. But, his mother made sure that her kids knew about her twin brother, Donald. She told them stories of him along side with tales of riveting adventures she had been on (as he grew older, Dewey stopped having faith in it because when did his mother, who knew when a local garage sale was going to happen and loved the library next to Huey, venture into one of the Incan temples?). Stories ranging from childhood to high school to when he joined the Navy. His mother would adopt a soft look as she reminisced to Dewey and his brothers. But when either of them asked about what happened to Donald, a shadow seemed to fall over their mother's face. That soft look would vanish and would be replaced by a downturned beak and a quick,"He passed away before you guys hatched." When he had first heard this, Dewey felt a small drop in his stomach, thinking about a world without Huey and Louie.

Dewey glanced back at his brother's and uncle- _the Scrooge McDuck-_ before turning his attention back to the torn painting. It depicted his mother and Uncle Scrooge battling against pirates, the captain looking similar to the ghost they just encountered moments ago. The right side of the painting was damaged, paper curled around to obscure the other side. Dewey reached out and smoothed the paper, feeling the slight bumps the paint had left behind. 

Finally, the portrait looked whole. Scrooge, with a determined smirk on his beak, battled with Captain Peghook. His mother stood on the topmast of the ship, fighting with an enraged bird twice her size. She looked younger than Dewey had ever seen her and appeared to be laughing. His eyes shifted over and swinging from a rope, looking as lighthearted as the rest of his companions was-

"Uncle Donald?" Dewey's eyes widened as he took in the smiling duck, who was dressed in a black sailor outfit, a contrast to the blue one Dewey had seen him in when Della showed him and his brothers a photo of the other duck.

Dewey didn't know when he learned about his uncle. Huey claimed that they had been rather young and their mother agreed with them, but Dewey still had his doubts. But, his mother made sure that her kids knew about her twin brother, Donald. She told them stories of him alongside with tales of riveting adventures she had been on (as he grew older, Dewey stopped having faith in it because when did his mother, who knew when a local garage sale was going to happen and loved the library next to Huey, venture into one of the Incan temples?). Stories ranging from childhood to high school to when he joined the Navy. His mother would adopt a soft look as she reminisced to Dewey and his brothers. But when either of them asked about what happened to Donald, a shadow seemed to fall over their mother's face. That soft look would vanish and would be replaced by a downturned beak and a quick," He passed away before you guys hatched." When he had first heard this, Dewey felt a small drop in his stomach, thinking about a world without Huey and Louie.

There was only one photo that their mother showed them. A picture of her shoving Donald into a cake, her laughing, him angry. A happy moment frozen in time. And that was it. She never told them how he passed away and Dewey learned that it was a topic designed to be avoided. Still, Huey had asked their Uncle Gladstone and Uncle Fethry when they had come over to visit bearing chocolate from Russia. Uncle Gladstone had said nothing but Uncle Fethry had. "He was always into the sea, so he died with it," he had blurted out before a small look of horror grew on his face. Dewey wished they had asked Uncle Gus.

Except would he talk to them about Donald? Almost everybody they met shied away from the topic except their mother.

His mother was always eager to tell them about their Uncle Donald, but only about his past and not about their Uncle Scrooge who was just a few miles away from their home. And Dewey wanted to know why.

~

He's surprised at the empty folder Webby shows him. She seemed to be the only person who knew everything about his family, but apparently Webby was just as lost as everyone.

"Bad things happen to people who ask about Donald Duck," Webby said in a low tone. Dewey tried not to imagine what had happened to the mailman. 

"So, who are we gonna' ask?" he asked, expecting Webby to claim that there wasn't anyone who could. Instead, the bow wearing girl adopted a sly look.

They tagged along with Scrooge and Louie, that later looking like he rather be anywhere else. A lie was said and Dewey followed Webby as she led him through the halls of the Money Bin. The building was vast, with high ceilings and a plushness in the carpets. Dewey was reminded of the manor.

Webby leads him through twisting halls and two doors to enter Scrooge's private library. "If there's info' about your mom, its in here," Webby says as she starts to the doors before them. Her determination to find information on Donald Duck falters as she encounters different books in the archives. Still, they persist and go through Quackfaster's trials which become more and more like normal library work.

Frustration builds up in Dewey as he feels their time being wasted away. Its replaced with terror when Quackfast swings out a sword, chasing them down the halls with an intent to make them bleed red.

Dewey's hand closes around another leather bound book and the title stops him. The words _The Life and Times of_ _Donald Duck_ grab his full attention, and he and Webby keep on searching, keep on organizing, keep on moving books until Dewey places the book in his hands on a shelf. A glowing light the color of Dewey's shirt gleams around it before darting torwards the ground, zigzagging along until it reached the end of the hallway. As the light hits the wall, a portrait slides up to reveal a hand scanner. Dewey and Webby head torward it and he can't help but feel the tightness in his stomach, the extra pace in his walk. But, how could he? This was what Dewey had wanted to know for so long and it was reasonable to feel like this, right?

The scanner recognizes his DNA and Dewey forgets about the sharp pain in his finger as the wall splits open, blue light blinding him slightly. He first notices the ceiling, where the walls around the glass window have been carved into. Dewey can make out waves of all sizes crashing into large ships and the rocky shores of spindly lighthouses; the glass window on the ceiling had the stars strewn across it, giving the impression that you were out at sea and could see the night sky amongst the white-capped waves. Then, the musty smell of dust hits him and he can see that the stuff has settled everywhere. That diving suit in its case on display, a sword still in its sheath on the wall, a miniature ship in a slightly cracked bottle. The bookshelf looms over them and Dewey can see a few scrolls tucked in between the books. A display of an old compass is right next to it.

Dewey is still struggling that something like _this_ exists in simple library-or archives or whatever-and then his eye catches the large portrait at the back of the room. Donald Duck stood there with an arm behind him and his hat held up, clad in a blue sailor suit with a bright red bow tie. Behind him is the long form of a ship sitting in the harbor. 

It's weird to see the older duck smiling after staring at a scrunched up brow and a deep frown all his life.

"Why would this stuff be hidden?" Dewey asks Webby, who is too engrossed in snapping pictures. "I gotta' show Huey and Louie." They were as curious as he was and deserved to know about a mysterious uncle who never visited and whom his mother had loved dearly.

Webby stops him and Dewey catches sight of a letter framed in wood. Dewey instantly recognizes his mother's handwriting, a combination of cursive and normal. " ' _Scrooge, I've taken the Spear of Selene. I'm sorry. Della.' "_ Dewey feels confusion settle in as he looks around the room, searching for an answer or an object labeled _stolen by Della Duck._ "Wait, what did she take? Why is she sorry?" His mother is almost never sorry; still, there were times when she couldn't make it to a concert or be on time to pick up Huey from a Woodchucks meeting, but she made up for that. His mother is firm, keeps promises that are unwavering. 

So, why did she apologize to Scrooge?

"Did she-betray your Uncle Scrooge?" Webby asks, looking nervous and Dewey wants to cry. He had just been chased by a deranged librarian with a _sword_ , discovered that an uncle that was almost invisible in his life lived gaining artifacts and sailing every water he could reach, suddenly found a letter where his mother sounded regretful-and still felt like he was back at square one. Everything had just surged towards him today too rapidly and he should try to take it to stride, tried to roll with it but he can't. Not when a voice in his head is saying that maybe his mother _did_ betray Scrooge and hurt Donald along the way. Maybe, maybe, maybe, _maybe._

There's this feeling in Dewey's stomach that's making his throat feel light. The familiar burn behind his eyes grows slightly but he stomps it out before it can burn right through. Suddenly, Dewey feels slightly frightened of his reaction.

Finally, his resolve is gathered. "We can't tell anyone about this until we find out what it means." ' _Especially, not Huey and Louie.'_ They may be different but they're brothers.Twins. Sometimes, they line up precisely like the stars above Dewey and Webby's heads. But, Huey might panic and Louie might withdraw further into his hoodie. And a small voice in Dewey's head says that this is _his_ , only his.

~

They gain the respect of Quackfaster for a while before she snatches _The Life of Times of Donald Duck_ from Dewey. "You can get this when you have a library card," she says as she practically pushes them to the door. Dewey holds his tongue even though he wants to argue with the librarian; he still remembers the sword.

This is what they know: There had been a Spere of Selene, most likely an artifact. His mother, Della, had taken it from Uncle Scrooge. Somehow, along the way, Dewey's Uncle Donald crossed passed with his mother and Donald somehow passed away.

The mystery of Donald Duck and his mother gets pushed aside as Scrooge takes them on adventure after adventure. Dewey feels a burn in his veins anytime they climb onto the Sunchaser. An unknown civilization, impossible summits, a magical casino in Macaw (actually, no, more like cursed. Those green chains and that toad screamed cursed). Lena appeared and suddenly they were down in an abandoned subway, Dewey under the suspicion of Launchpad. Still, life is sweeter, has more dynamic and Dewey loves it.

They crash in Ithaquack and suddenly, the gods and goddesses are real. Instead of sticking with the group, he and Webby climb the top of the hill on the island, towards the temple that holds all the answers. Along the way, Webby can't stop coming up with an explanation on his mother and the letter. "I've taken the Spear of Selene from your Money Bin, and I'm sorry I betrayed your trust and hurt Donald," she said, with a look on her face that is confident. Dewey just narrows her eyes at her and tells her to cut it out. His mother was honest, was always there for him and his brothers. The only thing she's stolen is a chip from her sons or a piece of toast.

' _But, parents don't trust their kids with everything,'_ a voice whispers in Dewey's head. ' _They don't think that their kids can handle it. Maybe, Mom thought that. Maybe, she did hurt Donald. Maybe, Mom was bad and didn't tell you.'_

_'Shut up, you don't know that. I know my Mom. She's a good person and she loves her family.'_

As they venture further to find the Spear, the voice gets louder and louder until they reach the entrance to the garden. The door to the garden opens and Webby is fine with going in and getting their answer, but Dewey isn't. The voice has been amplified and no amount of arguing will stop it.

"Because-What if my Mom was a bad person and did hurt Donald?" Dewey asks with a tight throat and a burn behind his eyes because his mother had held him so many times, kissed away his scrapes and tears, sat down with him and helped him with math. She had managed to come through for every practice, every field trip, every concert. They struggled with money sometimes but Dewey's mother made sure that the fridge had their favorite food, that the one laptop Dewey and his brothers all shared was in the living room charging, and took them someplace new when the park and the arcade got to bland. 

But, his mother was also the person who snapped a little, who got frustrated with them if they mumbled. The person who made decisions before consulting others and there were too many nights when she worked late, and Huey had to ask Derek for help. That had always left Dewey feeling as if they didn't have everything under control, that they needed extra help than other families (maybe they did need it). She was still the one that forbade Dewey or Louie for using the stove, but not Huey.

Dewey loved her more than anything and would fight anyone for her. Living with her wild; one moment everything would be as golden as the sunlight streaming through the apartment windows, the next someone would snap at another and it would take so long to forgive and move on.

This he cannot move on from.

But, Webby could. Webby, who searches with all her heart and is more determined than his mother, would give up a mystery for him. ' _That's not fair. That's not fair to me or Webby.'_ When he grabbed Webby's hand and dragged her to the door, Dewey wondered if she too felt that sense of longing. That slight dip in your chest when you want to learn something so badly you push through.

The garden is alluring, smelling heavenly of the flowers planted there. The trees were pruned precisely and the statue of a woman pouring water turns into Selene, goddess of the moon. She says the word Della and Dewey felt that dip in his chest lessen.

But, it grows when there isn't a Spere of Selene, but a Sphere and Dewey is _this_ close to tears of frustration. "The Spere of Selene! The one my mom took! The ones that are our only clue to finding our Uncle Donald!"

"Ah, your Della's kids!" Recognition is in Selene's voice. "I've should've realized, you're just like her." Then, she frowns. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen her in years and I don't know what the Spere of Selene is. But, is Della outside?"

Dewey clenches his fists, turning away. "So, we're back to 'she stole Scrooge's Spear, betrayed the family, and hurt Donald' again. Great." It's not a question, more of a statement and he hates how Webby's theories are becoming more and more real.

"What?" Selene says, sounding incredulous. "No way. She loves her family more than anything in the world." As she talks, the Sphere is summoned and Dewey sees her mother, looking happy as she laughs with Selene, clad in an old aviators outfit. Then, she's holding up a shield while Donald is behind her, looking terrified.

"Same with Donald," Selene continues and the image shifts to Donald talking to Strokules. "He was devoted to his family and was so fun to spar with." The image shifts again and Donald is circling Selene whose wearing a blindfold. He manages to knock her down but a quick slash of the goddesse's sword causes him to stumble back in order to avoid getting sliced. "Times were always fun with them." The last image was Dewey's mother, Donald, Storkules, and Selene all together at a table, smiling for the camera.

Donald Duck had been more than just Della's brother. He had been an adventurer who fought with immortals and collected cracked artifacts. He seemed bigger than anything Dewey had ever heard.

Dewey stared at the Sphere and feels his beak start to wobble a little and bites down on his tongue. ' _Now is not the time.'_ He feels a hand on his head and looks up to Selene.

"Don't give up, young duck," the goddess says, smiling. "Your mother never did."

He was his son's mother; Della Duck, who held a shield and three babies once, who made choices, who snapped. Dewey didn't know what she had inherited from her mother, but whatever it was it might help him.

Maybe, he had her stubbornness. He was too stubborn to cry as he hugged Webby and Selene.

~

_Earlier_

"Halt!" Storkules looked left to right before back at Della. "Where is Donald?" Surely his friend would not be alone without his fiery sister. They were as inseparable as a bow and arrow.

A frown had settled on Della's face. She glanced over to where her children stood with their uncle before looking down. "He passed away ten years ago, Storkules. I'm sorry."

Storkules stared and the strength sapped from his hands as he let Della fall. ' _Ten years_.' To mortals, it sounded too long, too great. To him, it sounded like you could blink and it would pass by.

He had fallen for Donald in the week he, his sister, and their uncle had visited Ithaquack. Donald was louder than a cornucopia, tongue as mighty as Storkules. He was always looking over someone once or twice. In battle, rage would transform him into something as terrifying and unstoppable as time; Storkules had never appreciated Selene's spheres more whenever he searched for inspiration that wasn't from the any diety because even mortal Donald was strong. Stronger than any man Storkules has ever seen.

Damon and Pythias, that's what Storkules called themselves. He, Pythias and Donald, Damon.

"I see," Storkules finally says. He wanted to turn away and hide, wanted to pound something so hard his knuckles will sting because they're stained with blood, wanted to search for Hades and asked to speak to his beloved once more. He wanted to do so much more right now and why can't he? He's Storkules, he's a god, he has the power-

He looks down, sees Della, and remembers that it wasn't just him who loved Donald.

"I see." A pause. "Then, we shall embark on a rousing adventure to honor our fallen compatriot." He said this with a set beak. This is something he would do for Donald, who belonged in a rocked boat and a shield hooked.

But, he couldn't understand why Della, smirked and laughed during the tasks, said no.

"What would Donald say-" Storkules began.

"Well, he can't!" Della shot back, eyes filled with fire. "Can he?" Then, she blinked and regret showed. A sigh left her and she looked off to the side. "I missed this, I'll admit it. But, there's something more important in my life now."

Now, it was Storkules's turn to feel regret. He may have known Donald for years, but Della was his other half and had seen him go from gripping a cup to the handle of a mace. What right did he have asking these things?

He's about to apologize after the siren cast her spell on him when a cry sounds out. Selene is running towards Della who roars in delight at her friend. They collide and are laughing, a joyous twin pair of laughter that brings a smile to Storkules's beak.

Too soon, do they leave. Rushing away so that they could evade Storkules's father's wrath. He thinks about his last words to Della. "It may seem that you have given up adventure, but it was always in your blood. You know where to go when you need it." He wondered if this is what he would say to Donald if he came with age stooping his shoulders and kin to look after because that _was_ more important than a rousing adventure.

Storkules turns and heads to his room, leaving Selene 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Dewey insight for ya'll  
> -I feel like Fethry would be the one who would blurt things out at random  
> -Della's room in the archives-or to be more specific the ceiling, shows a night sky which is a lil nudge at how Della could fly and how she went to space. The wall around the sky showed a tree, a statue of a women reachig up, basically stuff that looked like adventure. I wanted to add Donald being a sailor and a Navy officer since its a fact that is rather popular and would be something important in the Duckverse, so I changed the carvings and tree to waves. Also thought that Scrooge moved all of Donald's adventure stuff to the archives too  
> -I hc that Quackfaster would have been the one who designed the room and might have felt that the letter Della wrote to Scrooge was a connection to Donald, so she put it there  
> -Storkules is the type to kick down the door if he hears a friend breathe while Selene is the type to hide and scare that friend  
> -Stork called said that he and Donald's paths crossed like Damon and Pythias. According to Greek legend, those two pissed off Dionysos so that Pythias was to be executed. Damon offered to take his place and Pythias was ordered to go home and then return at a certain time or Damon dies. They make it alive, but the phrase "like Damon and Pythias" has been used to refer to a #goals relationship or. gay couple b/c of a 1889 novel called A Marriage Below Zero. So, the ducktales crew called Stork and Don a gay couple ok chief  
> If there are any mistakes, please tell me! See you in the next one folks!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their laughter died and silence fell. It was brief; Dewey broke it. "I should have told you from the beginning," he began, tone contrite. "Good or bad, we're all in this together."

Huey could have stood and admired the towering building before them with its red-capped turrets and windows ablaze with light from inside; a statue of a duck in a knight's armor stood in the fog of the night, weapon held out, ready to fight.

Except that he didn't want to be squeezed to death and have his cheeks pinched by an old woman. He had seen how red some of his classmate's cheeks got when they were in the presence of their grandparents. Speaking of his grandparents, Huey couldn't help but ask, "Your parents are alive?!" to Scrooge. His uncle had said that he had been a young adult during the Gold Rush, meaning he must have been born around in the 1700s (or maybe it was farther back. All Huey knew was that Scrooge was _old_ ).

The tension between Scrooge and his father, Fergus, is as well. It's also fresh and alive as they glared at each other with venomous eyes and emitted growls all the way from the front to the dining table. Huey could not help but find this peculiar; shouldn't you be happy after seeing your son after five years?

Still...when had Scrooge mentioned his parents still being alive or that there was a Castle McDuck? Why didn't he, if there were a treasure buried in the halls of the castle? And why didn't he try and find a way to get rid of the curse that had settled into Scrooge's parents, giving them immortality?

Huey snapped out of his thinking when he saw that Grandma Downy leading the other kids down the halls. He hurried to catch up with them, listening to Dewey ask their grandmother (or would it be a great-grandmother?) questions.

The halls were covered with paintings of their relatives along with the occasional table against the wall. Huey found it all rather impressive if it weren't for finding out about _Dirty Dingus McDuck._ He shouldn't have laughed but it was all too easy to.

After that, Huey learns about the people behind the normal objects in the world. Murdoch McDuck was the first to patent the long-bow, selling it to the British Army; he charged extra for the arrows. Sir Swamphole McDuck hoarded treasure; Huey's eyes shifted to a certain top hat wearing duck. But, they moved away when he realized that there were a series of catacombs under the castle with a high chance of a demon dog roaming around. While the young duck felt anxious at this new fact and had to tell himself that no, a demon dog will not burst right through the floor, Webby was the only one who looked excited about the idea.

All of this was reminding Huey why he never trusted any giant building made of cobblestone and having an air of kenopsia (he had learned that word last week).

Still, who would've thought that the trillionaire Scrooge McDuck used to have a hairball as a pet as a child. Huey could understand stuffed animals, inanimate objects, but hair? And, really, how on did that lead to Scrooge's father to put him in a headlock?

While Scrooge stumbled off, Huey and his brothers continued down the halls of the castle, gazing at the paintings of their ancestors. Huey could not help but feel out of place; this was a where nobles and warriors had walked-no, _marched_ off to do their duties. Kids his age probably did more chores and were assigned more duties than him.

As they walked, Huey caught sight of a rather familiar looking young duck. "Is that Mom?" he asked, gaining the attention of Dewey and Louie. They have seen some pictures of their mother as a child, surreal as it looked. But, this painting of their mother dressed up in a frilly blue dress with a ridiculous red bow along with _way_ too many bows in her hair was too good. 

Dewey was the first one to crack, his laugh coming out loudly. Louie and Huey weren't far behind as the guffawed at the painting of their mother. It was just so ridiculous and a contrast to their grown-up mother, whom they had rarely seen wearing a dress. Huey paused to gasp and looked over to the side while doing so-only to double over in laughter again.

"T-There's another one!" he gasped, pointing to the opposite side of the hall. A portrait of a young duck dressed similarly like their mother-in. boys suit, just as frilly-made them all laugh even harder until they staggered around and rolled upon the stone floor. Huey's shoulder connected with the stone wall, causing the portrait to topple over. He and his brothers flinched away before surrounding the fallen painting.

There's a note taped to the back of it. " ' _If borrowed crown is what you seek, then venture below and follow your beak,' "_ Dewey read out, cocking an eyebrow. "Crown?"

"Crown? Like a king's crown?" Huey asked, interested.

Louie walked over and grabbed the paper with interest. "Or a crown like oldsey-timesy money. This could lead us to the Knight's Templar treasure!"

Of course, his brother would be interested in the treasure. " ' _To ensure an arrow misses its mark, pluck a ditty on an arc.' "_

And just like that, they were off, walking down a new narrow hallway to solve the mystery that had been dropped onto their laps. The hallways remained narrow until they encountered another stone door which slid open with some resistance when Huey pushed it open. They walked into a much larger room, high ceilings and all. Huey saw metal bars and the word _dungeon_ flew into his head; he was not surprised considering how old the castle looked like. Still, the place had been forgotten. He could tell by the skittering of tiny creatures, the dust and cobwebs gathering in the corners, that pile of rubble up ahead.

Wait...

The large piles of golden keys made Huey stumble and _How did these even get here?_ but they kept on going.

When they entered the crypt, Huey became away of a chill that seemed to pass by and leave behind a cold that lingered. ' _Its because it's always colder down. Heat rises up. That's why they put prisoners here. It's just that.'_

"Uh, I may have found a clue," Louie says and the words _Donald Duck._ Huey glances back at the note and recognizes the penmanship for his mother's. "The riddle was hidden under a portrait of Mom's brother which means it was meant for him." 

" ' _Face you face, confront your dooms,' "_ Louie recited from the note. "They wanted him to find his own grave! That is messed up." 

Both Huey and Louie rush forward to push open the door and, after a moments struggle, it flies open. Inside, a bag sits on top of the tomb with a familiar looking scarf poking out of it like a limp arm. Huey felt slightly disheartened.

"Just a beat-up old bag," he said as they walked toward it. There was a moment of silence as the three ducks observed the bag as if expecting it to do something.

Huey was just about to suggest they explore the room when a sound pierced the air. The echoing sound of a dog howling made him whip around toward the door. At first, there was nothing but the heavy sound of growling; Huey's feathers stood on end from the place on his arms. Then, he saw it. A hulking mass of black fur, green eyes glowing and white teeth that stood out against the black fur. A large, spiked collar hung from its neck; the broken end of a chain hung there like a more metal necklace. 

"The Demon Dog of Castle McDuck!" Dewey exclaimed, a horrified gasp leaving him. It jolted Huey out of his stupor of fear and he rushed to get into the grave of Donald Duck, away from the demon dog. The last thing he saw was the jaws, saliva dripping from several fangs.

The door was shuddering against its frame and Huey knew it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down. "We need a distraction!" he said, looking around the room widely for something, _anything._ His eyes settled upon the bag Dewey was catching and a page from the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook flashed through his mind. ' _If encountering a larger animal, fire is the best way to save yourself. Throwing a flammable object in a direction will cause your attacker to be distracted, giving you ample time to get to safety. This technique usually works on large dogs.'_

His hand shot out and ripped the bag from Dewey's grasp. Ignoring the shout from his brother, Huey riffled through the bag and pulled out the scarf. "Louie, hold the door open. I'll set this scarf on fire and throw it out as a decoy." Yes, yes that would work. It had to work. The torch neared the scarf and it was about to be set ablaze when-

"No!" The scarf was ripped away from Huey's hand by Dewey, who clutched the long piece of cloth along with the bag to his chest. "You can't!"

' _This duck.'_ "What is wrong with you?!" Huey almost screamed. 

"Why are you being super weird?! This is a bad time to be weird!" Louie said in a strained voice, the sounds of the great dog's paws making contact with the wooden door. ' _They were running out of time, they were running out of time, they were running out of time-'_

"Because it belongs to Mom!"

' _Wait, what?'_

Huey barely has time to register this new information when he sees the door bending slightly. Abandoning his hold on the torch, Huey rushed over to brace the door. "How do you know this is Mom's?" he asked Dewey, whose expression was unreadable.

The blue-clad duck shifted. "Uh, it says so!" Dewey lifted the bag to show them and sure enough, a white patch shown amongst the brown of the bag; the words _Property of D. Duck_ shown from its place. "Plus, this looks like her scarf!" Dewey continued. "It can't be Donald's because-"

Louie interrupted him. "What do you mean 'It can't be Donald's'? What does he have to do with any of this!"

Dewey's eyes shifted and his expression showed guilt. "I've, uh, kind of been researching him on my own. A little!" he added upon seeing the looks his brothers were sending him. "I mean, I just searched a forbidden library, crashed the Sunchaser, talked to the goddess Selene." There was a pause in which realization hit him. "Okay. You know, saying that out loud it comes off way worse than it sounded in my brain."

' _You crashed the Sunchaser, you found a secret library. You learned about a stranger. You didn't tell us.'_ "How could you keep this from us?!" Huey asked, suddenly enraged because this was Dewey wore his heart on his sleeve, told them secrets that he swore he would take to the grave in the dark of night, and scolded either of them if they didn't tell him everything. And then suddenly, he turns around and decides to research their mother's dead brother?

"I was trying to protect you from a potentially devastating revelation," Dewey explained.

' _Liar.'_ Huey was always the one who never shared books or a bowl of grapes, who hogged the blankets, who kept secrets that could have solved a fight but in the end made it worse. "Or you just kept it to yourself so you can feel special," he shot back, rolling his eyes. "Classic Dewey." That last part was said so knowingly, a phrase said so many times that Huey was getting sick of it. "Don't you trust us?!"

"It's not that! Okay, it's just!" Dewey faltered, hands flailing about as if they were searching for an explanation to grasp on. "First, I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get hurt. Then, I found out all this stuff and I didn't want you to hurt _me!_ I'm sorry, okay!"

' _How can you think that? How can you_ say _that?'_ "You're only sorry because you got caught!"

Dewey glared at him with a fiery look in his eyes; Huey felt a curl of satisfaction at this. Then, his brother's eyes shifted to the side and landed on-

_Louie._ They had forgotten about him, too engrossed in their own harsh exchange of words. Louie was curled up by the bag, staring into its contents. He had pulled out a brown jacket and was gazing at it with sad eyes.

"...Louie?" Dewey asked hesitantly. "You okay?"

"...You didn't tell us or Mom." Louis lifted his head and stared at his older brother. "That is not okay." His voice had gone slightly whispy.

Huey felt a drop in his stomach, staring at the scarf hanging from the bag like a limp arm. Now, all he can think about was his mother's fond smile as she told them story after story of her brother, how her smile curved downwards over time. She would perk up of the word "sailor" was mentioned and Huey would always think,' _You loved him.'_ It made him want to hug his brothers then; now, he wanted to only hug Louie.

So caught up were they with this cold bucket of news being poured onto them, they forgot about the Demon Dog. One moment, Huey was against the door; the next, he was flying across the room as the door exploded. The large dog stood there, growling at its new meal. There's a small second of standing still, gaping at the beast _because it's huge we can't beat it this isn't that_ _scary dog in the alley behind the apartment this is different_ when the dog makes the first move. Lunges and sends them scattered around and, eventually, the large stone- _he can't remember the name, why can't he, its because of the dog, the dog, sharp teeth from the dog-_ black jaws are coming down and the drool is leaking from the teeth that looked like they were designed to tear apart flesh.

' _We shouldn't have gone down here, we shouldn't have gone down here, we shouldn't have gone down here.'_

Lady Luck is beaming on them because they managed to escape the jaws and Huey is _fleeing_ from danger, not looking back. It takes him a second to realize that he's lost and alone, doesn't take him long to realize that his brothers are lost and alone. The duty he was given the moment he was born-the first to hatch and to watch Dewey and Louie hatch-makes him turn around and call out as loud as he can, "DEWEY! LOUIE! GUYS, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

He doesn't know how long he ran, how loud he screamed. All Huey knew was that there was a flash of green out of the corner of his eyes before something almost knocked him to the ground. Louie had a tight grip on him as he took short breaths of air. Huey wrapped his arms around his brother, closing his eyes tightly against-the dark? The terror that was still sloshing around inside of him? ' _No, don't think about that. Lou's here, he's here, he's not hurt, he's fine-'_

"Dewey," Louie suddenly gasped, drawing back and looking at Huey. "W-Where's Dewey?"

And they were running, running again down the halls, looking for their brother. Neither of them dared to raise their voice to a shout, in fear of the demon dog appearing before them with a clatter of the chain around its collar. They ran and searched every single corner, glanced behind a pile of rock before darting away.

They find Dewey cowering before the dog, eyes wide and Huey knew that every second counted. "Grab a stick!" he ordered Louie and began to gather rocks into his arms. Once again, Lady Luck breathed in their direction; they drove _the_ Demon Dog away. That saying about sticks and stones was right, they _did_ hurt. 

The go back to the grave and riffle through the bag. Pulling out old clothing that had become stiff from time, the smell of dust hitting them. After shifting aside a pair of goggles, Huey's eyes landed on something blue. "A hat?" he questioned, reaching down to pick it up for further examination. A sailor's one, to be more specific, one that looked familiar.

"That looks like Donald's hat," Dewey said.

Something clicked in Huey's mind. "This must be the borrowed crown from the riddle!"

Now it was Louie's turn to speak, his tone skeptical. "So, Mom took the hat, hid it, and the elaborate riddles in the catacombs and the deadly Demon Dog were-"

"-Were all just an elaborate prank on Donald?" Huey finished, sounding incredulous. There was a moment of silence as this information was digested until Huey couldn't hold it in any longer. He began to laugh along with his brothers, imagining the tantrums Donald would throw if he went through the stuff they did.

Their laughter died and silence fell. It was brief; Dewey broke it. "I should have told you from the beginning," he began, tone contrite. "Good or bad, we're all in this together."

This is what Huey had been expecting. An apology and he- _they_ deserved it after skipping dinner, running around in the dusty catacombs, and being chased around by a monstrous dog. After finding out that Dewey had lied and tried to solve a mystery all on his own- _how long did you keep that in, how long, Dewey?-_ while shielding him and Louie from the truth. Huey may never find out why his brother would do that but settled on the idea that he'll understand when he's older.

' _And maybe,'_ he thinks as Castle McDuck is swallowed up by the fog. ' _We'll understand what happened to Donald Duck now that we're all in this together.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaayyy my man Huey. Writing him is actually fun ngl.  
> A really short chapter here. Not much to say.  
> See ya in the next one scouts.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...We know about the Spear of Selene," Dewey answered, glaring up at Della.

They had been so, so careful hiding it. Creating fake objects, inventing hand signals to alert one another, spending sleepless nights pouring over book after book. In Louie's opinion, they had done good and he couldn't help but begin to make plans for how they could go to that diner three blocks away; the pancakes there are golden heaven, the syrup poured on them a way to ascend. "My treat," he says after a meeting and ignores Huey's small snort.

But, no. Faith had to spit at them. Being so high up in the air shouldn't have bothered Louie except for Huey's comment about how dangerous their situation makes him want to curl up on the ground and cry for his mommy. Instead, Louie settled on strapping himself down onto the seat. He had thought that everything would be fine. Then, Dewey decided to be Mr. Nothing-Can-Stop-Me-Now and decided to run after the missing piece to their complex puzzle. Now, Louie would have been fine with that if his brother would think things through _because the plane is tipping dammit Dewey!_

Louie's stress levels continued to rise as he watched Dewey and Scrooge scramble for each other, tipping the Sunchaser around. He was sure that they had broken the meter when Dewey decided to climb out of the plane. Heart in his throat, Louie had begged Dewey to come back, that it wasn't worth it, that this was crazy, that he can't give himself up for someone they lost, that he could just let it go because their family was enough.

Louie saw Dewey throw the walkie-talkie away and felt dread settle into his stomach. It melted away into relief when he saw Dewey grab Scrooge's hand. And then a strange feeling crept up into his stomach again when Scrooge stood in front of them, gazing at the small, torn piece of paper with a sadness Louie often sees in his mother.

Scrooge let out a sigh and gazed at the small, torn piece of paper for a moment before glancing up again. "'It was just before you wur hatched," he began, a small smile dancing upon his beak. "Your mother, yer Uncle Donald, 'n' Ae had been going on amazing adventures fur years, 'n' things were grand! Except we'd bin just about everywhere. Ever th' aviator, yer mother devised a plan tae explore th' greatest uncharted territory o' all: outer space!" As he spoke, Scrooge placed the piece of paper down and moved it so that it finally formed a picture: Scrooge himself in a spacesuit, a familiar looking rocket in the background. Louie could make out two faint figure climbing into the rocket. "Della had already bin all over th' Earth, she wanted tae give ye boys th' stars." 

It made sense. Louie had grown up with stories of Cetus and Pisces, had gazed up at the night sky bejeweled with light with a blanket wrapped around him and a thermos full of hot chocolate during a camping trip or a visit to the beach. Moments where he felt that he was so, so small under the stars.

Scrooge continued as Huey continued to gave at the picture. "Donald thought it was too risky, especially wi' you three on th' way. So, Ae did th' only logical thing: Ae bult` th' rocket 'n' didn't tell Donald or anybody." Louie's head jerked up to stare at his uncle, eyes wide.

' _What? What? Why?'_ Scrooge could be wilder when it came to adventure, taunting the beast chasing after them or sometimes choosing a much longer gap to jump over. It only happened when the journey began to make the scenarios in his brain seem impossible. But, to Scrooge, they weren't impossible. No, they were impossible to people who didn't look beyond what lay in front of them and didn't move to grab at the chance dangling in front of their eyes.

Scrooge continued talking. "It meant tae be a surprise fur Della tae celebrate yer birth. But yer mother wis always good at sniffing out surprises." A resigned tone slips in. "She found th' rocket 'n' decided tae go for a little test run in orbit. Neither o' us cuid have predicted that Donald would follow her up there. He threw her out of th' rocket before they broke th' atmosphere. Ae tried tae get in touch wi' him tae help him land but he never flew as much as Della. In th' end, Ae couldn't reach him. While yer mother was able tae land safely yer, Donald was lost in th' sea.

"Yer mother 'n' Ae never spoke again." Scrooge's expression shifted from remorse to fondness when he looked at the three ducklings before him. "Until ye three showed up on my doorstep."

There was silence as these words kindled, were turned over and over, festered. All the while all Louie could think was that Scrooge had almost killed his mother. Nevermind the fact that his mother probably ventured onto much more dangerous stuff than flying a rocket. Nevermind the fact that Louie believed his mother was capable of anything. Everyone had their limits; physical, emotional, whatever you say. It still didn't change the fact that his mother had taken the rocket-

_That_ screeched Louie's thoughts to a halt. ' _Mom took the rocket. She had us and she took the rocket.'_ It's enough to make his eyes sting with repressed tears.

Dewey and Huey are talking. Shouting about the rocket, how Scrooge endangered their mother, encouraged her by building the rocket. Louie joins in, trading his bitter tears for bitter words when he says, "Cheap old Scrooge probably bailed as soon as it put a dent in his Money Bin." He needed to say it; the stew of anger in his stomach persuaded him to. It grows when his uncle yells at Webby.

Then, the Sunchaser is tipping, tipping down and they're all screaming. Miraculously, they survive which shouldn't surprise Louie because Launchpad is the one who's steering. Right now, all Louie wants is to go home. He doesn't want to look at Scrooge's face, doesn't want to return to the manor, doesn't want to look at the picture of his mother willingly climbing into a rocket. All he wants is a bed to crawl into and never come out.

~

Della glanced up and when she sees her sons making their way to her, a grin spreads across her beak. "Back so soon? You guys came at the right time! The apartment is now a bug-free zone. We can move back in in a couple of-" She broke off. All three of her son's face was the same: downcasted. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"...We know about the Spear of Selene," Dewey answered, glaring up at Della.

Della felt a small drop in her stomach when her son uttered those words. Words that she wished would never come out of any of her children's mouths. But now they have. What do you say to your children whom you've sworn to protect and cherish when you yourself almost abandoned them?

"Oh," Della says softly as she looked to the side, knots twisting in her chest.

Not much apparently. 

"Let's go back to the apartment," Louie says as he walks into the manor, no doubt to retrieve his belongings. His brothers follow him, shoulders tensed and brows furrowed. Della watches them go and swallows her suddenly dry throat.

When she saw Bentina Della bombarded her with questions. "What happened? How did they find out?" A glance at the Sunchaser that's making its slow journey to the garage. "What happened to the Sunchaser? Is anyone hurt?"

Bentina only gave her a grave look and heaved a sigh. "The children somehow managed to find out about the Spear of Selene earlier. Dewey demanded that your uncle tell him about it and..." She trailed off, glancing down at Webby who was unsarcastically quiet.

Della blinked at the small girl before asking her in a very soft tone, "Webby, are you alright?" Said girl simply shrugged and shuffled closer to her grandmother who placed a hand on her shoulder. A comforting and a protective one. 

Bentina's tone is brisk when she speaks. "If you'll excuse us." She steps around Della and walks to the manor, shoulders tensed. Della watches her go and can't shake the knots in her chest off.

She finds Launchpad in the garage, surveying the crumpled form of the Sunchaser with a frown. When he sees Della, he offers a friendly wave and a, "Hey, Ms. D!"

"Launchpad, what happened?" Della can't take her eyes off of the damaged plane before her, taking in the bumps and scratches.

Launchpad shifted slightly, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, man. What didn't happen? One minute we were flying smoothly, the next we're on top of the very tip of this mountain. Then, some pieces slipped away during turbulence. Mr. McD had this crazy idea to climb out of the plane and try and fix it somehow. Then, him and Dewey were running around the plane and because we didn't have any weight it-"

"The movement caused them to move the plane around," Della finished, a hint of exasperation coming into her voice. She could see it in her head. "Then, what happened?"

At this, Launchpad became more animated in his story, hands flying slightly. "Well, Dewey was trying to get this piece of paper but it kept on being blown away. It went outside, so Dewey climbed out of the plane-"

"He did _what?!"_ Della had half the mind to march into the manor and give her son a stern talking or a proper punishment.

Launchpad nodded as if it were perfectly normal to discuss 10-year-old boys climbing out of a plane. "But, don't worry. Mr. McD was able to get him inside! They talked about what that paper was about. Something about the Spear of Selen and...you." By this time, the taller bird had stopped smiling and was staring at Della with an unreadable expression. Della shifted and glanced off to the side, something akin to shame rising up in her throat. Hurriedly, she turned around and searched for the last person to interrogate.

He was there in his office, infront of his desk and staring out the window. Scrooge hardly flinched when she stormed in, the door emitting a harsh sound when it was slammed open.

"You've really messed up now, old man," Della said, seething on the inside. Her uncle simply turned around and stared at her.

Della took a deep breath before continuing. "How? How could you be so careless? You should have talked to me first before going and telling my kids about the Spear of Selene! They're too young to have all this dumped on them! I can't believe you-!"

"You think Ae didn't try and stop them from figuring out?! You think Ae willingly let them fin' out?!" Scrooge whirled around, eyes ablaze. "Don't ye dare blame this on me, Della! If its anyone's fault, it's yours."

Della felt as if she had just been punched in the stomach, the breath leaving her with a dull ache as old as the duck before him. A part of her wanted to scream at him, wanted to grab those poisoned words she always had and hurl them at him. A part of her agreed with those words.

' _Fuck.'_

She turned on heel and left Scrooge to his own devices.

~

Their apartment smelled of cleaning products, sharp and quick, hitting Della's senses. They all shuffled in, arms laden with their luggage. Tomorrow, they'll retrieve their belongings from the manor. Della would have to talk to that storage company about the furniture. 

Her son's had been so quiet when they filed into the car, during the drive. Della had wanted to say something because the silence was stifling, pushing against her ears. But, was enough said? In the Sunchaser, was enough said and was it enough?

She sighed, the sound of it seemed too loud in the- _was it always this small-_ apartment. The pad thai and soup had already been ordered and were already laid out onto the table. She toyed with the idea of getting her sons to come to the table but discarded it away. ' _They're probably still upset.'_

A voice scoffed in her head. _'Upset? More like pissed. You almost lost them because you wanted to be Della Duck, not their mother. You don't deserve to eat with them.'_

' _Shut up. Just shut up.'_

It's easy to walk over to their door, but difficult to open it. Della stands there, finding the little crack in the door fascinating as she tried to get used to the mess of emotions in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she rapped her knuckles on the wood. "Boys? I have dinner. Can I come in?"

There was the sound of shuffling and the door opened just a tad. Huey stood there, looking anywhere but at Della. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the bag of food. Della watched as the door closed behind them and felt a sudden urge to wrench it open, to explain, to _beg_ for her boy's forgiveness. Instead, she made her way to the table alone to eat.

It was getting dark now, the sun casting long shadows at it slipped below the horizon. Suddenly, Della is tired and the promise of a bed with doughy pillows and a fresh pair of sheets made her walk to her room. God, she had spent so long at Scrooge's that she kept on suspecting the hallway to become more spacious at every turn. The sheets get spread out, the pillows fluffed and Della begins her nightly routine. It's quick and she wishes it could be the same for falling asleep, but there's so much going on. The culpability that has suddenly been dumped over her head like a bucket of icy cold water, the frustration at not being able to look her own kids in the damn eye, the anger at both her uncle and herself for hurting them. 

There was also grief. A thorn in the side, a painful reminder about...

' _I'm so sorry.'_

~

French toast and bagels with sesame seeds toasted just enough for there to be a crunch alongside a bowl of sliced apples. Two pitchers, one milk and one orange juice. This was the boy's favorite breakfast and they made sure to let their mother know in very loud tones. And munching loudly on the French toast and bagels.

Hopefully, it would put them in a good mood.

Della's just finishing putting the milk away when the troop in, heads bowed and eyes averted. She says good morning to them in a soft voice, placing a plate infront of each of them. Huey mumbles something that Della thinks is a thank you. She sits down and the family of four eats in silence; cutlery clinking on plates and chewing was what filled the air. The air seemed tenser than yesterday.

Della's plate has just been cleared when Dewey spoke.

"How could you?!" Della jumped and looked up to meet the accusing gaze of his eldest. She inwardly cringed.

"How could you not tell us about Donald Duck?!" Dewey's fist was clenched, beak set. "Especially when he was so important! And don't play the 'You're-too-young' card with us. We can handle it!"

"I-"

"How could you go _on that rocket?!"_ Huey's face rose in indignation. "Especially when we were eggs! How can you be so irresponsible?!'

"Boys-"

"Did it not cross your mind how dangerous that it?! You could've _died_ , Mom!" Huey's voice catches on that last word. "I can't-I just- _How could you?!_ "

"I just-"

"We were eggs! Just eggs! I don't want the stars or whatever. I want a Mom who won't go on some stupid adventure!"

_"SHUT UP!"_ Della's hand slammed down hard onto the surface of the table, rattling the objects on it. Silence fell, punctuated only by the heavy breathing. Della felt her cheeks flush under her feathers as she tried to keep her anger in check. A glance up confirmed that yes, Huey and Dewey had stopped yelling but were still glaring at her.

' _You deserve it, you deserve it, you deserve it, you deserve it...'_

"Boys..." A lump was forming in her throat. "I-I'm gonna' be honest. I was an idiot back then. All I thought about was the next adventure. People always said that I could never see beyond my beak. D-Donald always said that this sorta' stuff would be the death of me. But, I was too stubborn. Too stupid." A sigh, shoulders sagging. "You-You have every right to be mad at me, to hate me. But, I need you to know something." Tired blue eyes met three identical pairs of them. "The day I found out I was having little ducklings...was by _far_ the best day of my life. And the day you hatched? I thought to myself how lucky a duck like me was." Eyelids blinked furiously in order to keep the tears at bay. "I am so blessed to have you three as my sons."

Dewey was crying, fat tears rolling down his cheeks while Huey's bill quivered. Della shifted her gaze to the right and felt her heart break even more at the sight of her youngest son. Louie had his head bowed and his shoulders were shaking, a clear indication that he was weeping. She's just about to open her mouth to say _I love you_ when Louie snaps his head up, eyes narrowed.

"Y-You climbed it." His voice wobbles. "You chose t-to climb on that r-rocket. I-" He takes a deep, shaky breath before exclaiming, " _I hate you!"_

It feels as if all the air has been knocked out of her. Della watched as Louis shoved himself away from the table; the sound of him running to his room echoed in the little apartment, but not as much as the sound of a bedroom door being slammed shut. 

That night, she heard the door to her own room creak open and the sound of webbed feet making their way to her. Rolling over, Della raised the blankets and allowed Dewey to crawl into the sheets with her.

~

She's in the store, looking for some butter when a certain pamphlet catches her eye and makes her toss it into the cart. Mentions it absentmindedly while trying to coax a conversation out of her sons at dinner. Webby is there and Della pretends that she can't see the shocked look on her face. 

Bentina shows up, cool as a cucumber. The boys are stubborn, the like the apartment, its better than that _selfish old man._ BothLaunchpad and Webby are frantic, and Della? Della just sits their, mulling over her family. How she hasn't talked to so many in so long even before she was pregnant.

"Our family is stubborn and that's our downfall," she says, standing up. "It's time we stop and think." Then, to the boys, "I'm so sorry." How many times had she had to repeat that for it to mean something more, for it to be worth more than the gold in a dragon's cave.

Della wasn't expecting to be hugged, but she was expecting Louie and Dewey to hold back. They're young, they're still angry. Dewey, at Scrooge and Louie, at her. And she understands. She'll always understand.

In the end, they hug. And that's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl there are some stuff in here that even I don't understand.  
> -I fucking love pad thai  
> -Why do I feel like Scrooge went through some professional help not only for Della's-or in this case Donald's-disappearance but for other things that trouble him deeply? Cause that guy has a lot of baggage ngl.
> 
> I'm not that happy with the ending tbh.
> 
> See ya in the next one scouts!

**Author's Note:**

> .....................did I do good?
> 
> -Tfw you had to listen to Eliza's scream in stay aliv reprise to capture Della's scream haha :,,,,,,,,,,,)  
> -Donald's a sailor of course he would die at sea  
> -I spelt pages with a j instead of a g and spen a whole minute staring at it before thinking, 'Wait, thats not right'  
> -According to Google, there has to be a heat shield around arocket for it to land. The shield is suppose to keep the rocket and its occupnts safe
> 
> Been wanting to do this for a while, ya'll. A shit ton of angst and suffering along with mystery? Sign me up. Updates may be slow b/c school and other things going on in life. And I will update the tags as I go along with this story.  
> See ya in the next one, scouts!


End file.
